


As the World Caves in

by PandasFiction



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: BadBoyHalo - Freeform, BadBoyHalo is different off camera, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Darryl Noveschosch - Freeform, Fantasizing, Heavy Angst, Internal Conflict, M/M, NSFW, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Religion, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Sexuality Crisis, Unaccepting Parents, Unrequited Love, Zak AHmed - Freeform, no beta we die like men, skeppy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28577304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandasFiction/pseuds/PandasFiction
Summary: The anxiety of his built-up lies often prickled at Darryl's fingers, as did the tender and kind adulation building in his chest. Darryl's world was centered around the church he grew up in; unfortunately, his faith and feelings tended to argue.Darryl struggles with understanding and walking the line between his faith and sexuality; Zak tends to exasperate that struggle as Darryl blurs the line closer and closer between friendship, romance, and religion.He longed to hold Zak's face in his hands. To count his exhales with his face only mere inches away from his own. To carry him as the world caves in; Darryl knew he should've let go months ago.
Relationships: BadBoyHalo/Skeppy, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 45
Kudos: 186





	1. Torn Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Firstly, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy the story! It has quite a few dark themes, but I'll be giving warnings before every chapter.
> 
> Disclaimer: This story contains lots of religious themes, so I would like to say I respect all religions and this fic isn't meant to tear down anyone's beliefs. Just wait for the end of the story, please.

**Warnings: Religious Trauma, Implied Depression, Mentioned Homophobia.**

\----

I just don’t think the viewers would like it if we did another parkour stream,” Zak’s voice arose from the other end of the call. 

“Then let’s not do that. We could always play on the SMP; the viewers tend to love those streams,” Darryl spoke calmly. His eyes were glued on the ceiling, leaning back in his chair next to his computer.

“Sure, but what would we do? We can’t advance the plot without the others,” Zak replied, exaggerating the final word of his statement. Darryl pondered the terms for a moment. The darkness in his room was apparent now that the golden glow of sunset had come and passed, replaced with clouds of grey.

“We could always do another troll stream,” Darryl offered. Zak chuckled from the other line, granting a soft smile that graced Darryl’s face. He still found nothing of interest on his ceiling but kept his eyes there anyway. 

“Sure,” Zak finally let out his mouth; his smile could be heard. Darryl’s hand sat limply against the phone pressed against his ear. There was a comfortable silence for a while as Darryl allowed his eyes to rest.

“The sunset is really pretty here, Bad,” Zak spoke, breaking the silence. Darryl opened his eyes, humming at his statement. “No, seriously. The sky is red that fades into a deep orange. The clouds are golden, Bad. I wish you were here to see it.”

Darryl smiled at his words. “Send me a picture.”

Zak offered a soft _oh_ followed by sounds of movement on the line. A few moments later, a text message came through on Darryl’s phone. He pulled the phone from his ear and placed the call on speaker. Sliding open the text, his face was bathed in orange light. The photo was Zak in front of a vibrant backdrop. Zak’s nose was all scrunched up, and there was a lopsided smile on his face. Darryl chucked.

“The sky is really pretty,” Darryl found himself speaking. He could not find it in himself to draw his attention away from Zak’s face. “You should post this on Twitter.”

“You think?” Zak questioned, laughing. “You didn’t even say anything about my face this time!” Darryl found himself smiling as he removed Zak from the speaker, placing the phone back to his ear.

“What do you want me to say? Oh Skeppy, I am so very in love with you. You are so handsome and have so much money,” Darryl mocked over the line, a sloppy smile on his face. Zak laughed at his words, more than he probably should have.

“I’m making that the Twitter caption,” Zak finally managed to spit out between giggles. Before Darryl could protest, a Twitter notification came through that he was tagged in a Tweet. Pulling the phone down from his ear again, he read the tweet with the attached photo.

_Skeppy: @BadBoyHalo said he’s in love with me and that I am handsome and have lots of money._

He opened the picture again to look at Zak’s face before sliding out of it. Darryl observed that there were already two thousand likes and a handful of responses from delighted fans.

_You guys are so cute!_ One wrote. _The sky is so pretty,_ another said. Then, a response from his friend Vurb came through; _Sex with Skeppy when???_

Darryl snorted and stifled a laugh before clicking reply. He simply wrote one word: _Language_.

Darryl lifted the phone to his ear again. “Sorry if you’ve been talking. I was looking at the Tweet.” 

“No worries, that’s what I assumed. You ready to stream?” Zak asked. Darryl was silent for a moment. There was an absolute lack of motivation on Darryl’s part. Not because he didn’t want to stream, but because he felt utterly _exhausted_. He racked his brain for a way to verbalize that to Zak.

Sounds of wind thrashing against his window blended into the background. Soft pellets of rain hit the windows of his bedroom. Often, lightning flashes prompted the room to hold a muted amount of light before falling back dark.

“Skeppy?” Darryl’s words arose before he could even register his own voice. He slowly lifted his head from his chair to glance at the screens in front of him. It had gone dark from idle activity by now. His mouse and keyboard laid there limply and ready for use. 

A flash of lightning asked politely for Darryl’s attention; his gaze turned to glance out of the dark window. Nothing was interesting to observe. 

“Yeah?” Zak said, clearing his throat softly. Darryl’s gaze sat undisturbed out of the window. He no longer felt like speaking; his eyes watched trees sway in the wind. There was a generous amount of silence before words entered their space once more.

“Are you doing okay?” Zak suddenly asked. Both heard the sharp sound of concern pushing through his words. Darryl let his head fall back on the top of his chair. He resumed his watchful gaze of the uneventful and never changing ceiling. Once more, he found nothing interesting within his line of sight.

Lightning flashed sharply from outside his window. He found himself thinking the cross hanging on his wall produced an ugly shadow when bathed in sudden and harsh light.

“Just haven’t been feeling myself lately, I think,” Darryl spoke softly. A grumble of thunder rang through his room, and Darryl remembered how much he enjoyed the calm of Floridian storms. His eyes shut once more. “I’m fine.” 

“Maybe we should skip out on streaming tonight,” Zak offered kindly. Darryl listened to his words but did not have the energy to react. Pellets of rain pelted harshly against the window; Darryl reached his empty hand to run it through his hair.

“Yeah,” Darryl spoke, his voice hardly audible over the torment occurring only a few feet away from him, separated only by a sheet of glass. His empty hand fell limply into his lap. Perhaps the torment was not exclusive to outside his walls; he wished all it took to clear his misery was a few hours and was as predictable as those with weather radar.

Not all things are that simple. Darryl, most of all, knew that. 

Before he knew it, Darryl had pushed himself to his feet, letting the phone-filled hand fall to his side. His eyes were hollow as he moved towards his messy and unkempt bed. Thunder and rain stopped for none as his steps were silenced by the layers of unfolded laundry at his feet. 

He fell back onto his bed. He reconnected his gaze with the ceiling once more. His hand moved silently to place the phone back to his ear.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Zak asked after a moment of silence. His approach was calm but clearly concerned. In turn, Darryl drew in an exaggerated breath. He held it for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Darryl wagered. His lie caused anxiety to prickle at his fingertips as he swallowed. Zak let out a hard exhale; Darryl knew his lie had been detected.

“If you won’t let me help you, please at least take care of yourself,” Zak’s sharp but concerned voice said after a dull moment of silence. Darryl nodded, despite knowing Zak had no way of seeing his face. After another unremarkable flash of white from the window, Rat jumped onto his bed. As dull thunder rattled throughout the room, the dog settled herself against his torso. He placed his free hand on her softly, moving his slender fingers minimally to comfort her. 

“I am,” Darryl finally spoke. Zak drew in a breath; both knew the tense concern that tied their words together. The pelting rain forgot it’s tirade as it faded into soft sprinkles against the glass. Flashes of light from the storm still crept their way into Darryl’s room. 

Zak’s breathing was soft and regular, Darryl noticed, counting the exhales as his eyes watched the dancing shadows of his wall decor against his ceiling. 

_One, two, three, four --_

Thunder rolled into the room once more. Darryl closed his eyes, letting the thunder roll right through him. He felt weak feelings of discomfort prickling at his chest. The silence between the two was tense now.

Rat nuzzled her head into his hand. He acknowledged the soft fabric of his blankets beneath him.

“Just talk to me,” Darryl found himself telling Zak on the other line. “Like your day. Or about Rocco,” Darryl pleaded softly as his eyes flicked over the ceiling. He moved his hand from Rat to push back his hair, letting his hand rest there. Silence filled the room as Darryl focused on the words Zak was saying; the storm’s noise held no weight compared to his voice.

As Zak explained his day, Darryl’s despondent demeanor remained. Still, feelings of stillness and calm felt as it was growing with every shallow breath. 

The room grew still.

The gradual warmth rising softly to his chest and cheeks was unprompted, as was the humid Floridian air sticking to Darryl’s skin. He let his eyes shut.

The room grew more than still. 

Black walls grew high around him. Zak’s voice faded as a memory engulfed Darryl’s senses, waiting to play once more. When sounds of rain faded into sounds of aimless chatter, he drew in a breath to taste the stale air. The scene was familiar.

When he did finally open his eyes, muted colored sunlight streamed through stained glass around him. It sat softly on his hands, he observed. His next breath was more straightforward than he remembered. 

“Hello?” His voice rang out into the large building. His echo was the only thing to respond.

Someone began to play the organ, soft and methodically. Rows of old and young sat before Darryl. The aimless chatter begged at the idea that they were speaking, but faded memories have forgotten the faces of those around him.

They were watching him.

“Can you hear me?” Darryl asked them. The chatter continued; their eyes were glued on him, but not a single person arose to answer his question. Soft sounds of the organ found themselves intertwining with the chatter. It was a kind melody.

The church’s fine details around him fell away as the melody filled every crevice of the church. Only eyes watched him now; conflicting emotions swirled around him as he stood in the center of the church. He remembered he was walking towards the altar, down the long, white path, but not why.

Aimless chatter turned into clear dialogue. Darryl’s feet began to move.

_Is Darryl really getting married?_

_She must be beautiful!_

_He’s all grown up now._

_I wonder what they’ll name their children._

_I’m proud of you, son._

Darryl briefly considered the bizarre fact that he had forgotten his own wedding. Stale air entered his mouth again as he drew in a long breath. His feet moved faster, foot after foot, only to feel that he was not moving at all.

His eyes fell to the floor as Darryl allowed himself to think momentarily. This church was that of his childhood Sunday mornings, this church was that of his sister’s wedding, this church was that of his deepest confessions. 

_Was this church where he would be getting married, too?_

As Darryl lifted his gaze, his eyes met those of the only person’s face in the whole world he had memorized. Stained glass painted a strip of red light across his face; his throat tightened, and his chest burned. 

The chatter died away from around him. Those around him seemed equally shocked to see who was standing at the altar; Zak’s kind eyes were peering into his.

It was unmistakable; the suit on Zak’s shoulders complemented his own kindly. 

_Am I marrying Zak?_ Darryl’s mind rang out. Not even the void reached out to answer him.

The room’s atmosphere was unreadable; too many people, too many voices, and too many opinions. Instead of understanding the atmosphere, Darryl took Zak’s face into his hands. Zak’s face was warm and soft, he noticed. He felt a sense of calm at his fingertips. 

Despite the man between his fingers, the room felt lonely despite the rows of supposed family members.

Whoever was playing the organ was now tearing at the keys, pressing them down hard and fast. The sound was ugly; the song lost its grace.

As Darryl lowered his face to kiss Zak, the room contorted into menacing black walls of dread. Then, the room grew eerily quiet; feelings of unease began to seep into his skin from where the red light once touched him. 

Darryl found himself mere inches away from Zak’s lips as voices filled his ears again.

_Darryl is marrying a man?_

_Homosexuality is sin, Darryl._

_Didn’t you grow out of it?_

_You aren’t any son of mine._

_What am I doing here?_

It took Darryl a moment to realize the last line was his own thoughts. He wasn’t getting married. This wasn’t a memory at all; this was a hellish nightmare that weaponized his fears, bending them to its will.

With a callous hand, Darryl roughly pushed the false Zak away from him. Darryl stumbled, falling backward into the pool of dread. 

\--

When his eyes snapped open, he had come to realize he was once again staring at his ceiling. Calm pellets of rain knocked against the glass again. Soft but distant thunder rolled through his body. Rat was breathing peacefully next to him.

Darryl could still feel the burning sense of dread within his chest; he regretted allowing himself to doze off. His breathing was still simultaneously heavy and shallow. Darryl let his senses normalize as he waited for his heartbeat to stop sending burning blood throughout his body. 

As soft rain soothed Darryl, he found himself reaching over to grab his phone. Clicking it on, he read the contents of the screen.

_3:53AM. Call ongoing: Zak (06:23:18)._

Lifting the phone to his ear, he was greeted with the soft breathing of Zak. Warmth prickled at his chest and throat once more. Thunder rolled through the room again; trees calmed themselves outside of his window.

Darryl briefly wondered how long Zak was talking before he fell asleep himself. Darryl began to count Zak’s soft exhales once more. 

_One. Two. Three. Four --_

On four, Darryl pushed himself to sit up on his bed. Rat disliked the movement but settled down against Darryl’s pillow. 

_Five. Six. Seven. Eight --_

Darryl pushed himself to his feet. He felt dizzy.

_Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve --_

He began his short walk toward his bathroom.

_Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen --_

Darryl pulled the phone away from his ear. He clicked on the phone, muting himself, then putting it on speaker. 

Darryl placed the phone on his bathroom counter with a loud clack.

_Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen --_

Darryl observed that Zak missed an exhale. He moved to turn on his faucet, placing his hands under the cool water. Splashing it onto his face, he listened to the water run for a moment before shutting it off. 

He felt like he was suffocating, but only mildly.

He let his back fall flat against his bathroom wall. He slid down, knees curled to his chest. He imagined Zak sitting next to him, his hand in his, Zak’s head leaning against his shoulder. It reminded him of the only good part of his dream; Zak’s face dancing softly between his fingers.

He imagined leaning down to kiss him.

Then suddenly, he felt guilty for those thoughts.

Darryl did not understand why his church had pushed so intensely that homosexuality was a sin. Of course, he did not judge anyone to the best of his ability; but when it came to himself, he felt there was a battle of who he was and his faith.

If he could accept others, why not himself?

_Did God hate him?_

Why did his family believe so strongly that he could not be both? His thought was interrupted by the pending roll of thunder that was muffled by the bathroom door. 

Who was he, really?

He wondered, head against the wall and knees pulled to his chest, if Zak remembered their conversations like he did. 

“Skeppy, trust me, I really do want to meet you,” the memory burst into his mind. The faint memory bloomed around him as he felt glued to his PC chair once more, Discord opened on one screen and Minecraft on the other. “It’s going to be so much fun, Skep!” His words rang out into the Discord call, exaggerating Zak’s nickname. “I’ve just been busy!” 

“Sure, Bad! That’s what you always say!” Zak accused into Darryl’s headphones, half-joking, his smile intertwining into his words. His Minecraft avatar crouched a few times before Darryl copied the motion. Darryl chuckled, pondering his next words. 

The pair’s personalities were so different when a camera was rolling; this time was no different. 

“You muffin head. I told you I would meet up with you in 2021! Is that not good enough?” Darryl spoke, laughing between his words. Zak scoffed into the call, his avatar drawing a sword and chasing Darryl. Both knew it was in good banter. 

As the words faded from Darryl’s ears, the storm’s sound was able to be picked up once more. He felt warmth rising in his chest, contrasting the cold stone beneath him.

“How exactly do I tell you that I’m scared to meet up with you because it forces me to decide between who I am and my faith?” Darryl blurted out, almost angrily. He began to nervously play with a belt loop on his jeans as he let out a sharp exhale.

He let his head fall into his knees. He felt the burn in his throat due to pending tears, but nothing came. He wished they would just fall, thick and fast. He wished he could soak his hoodie in tears. He wished he could scream and thrash around. He wished when he was done, the answer he was searching for would be clear. 

Thunder grumbled around him again, but he hardly acknowledged it as he lifted his head once more. 

He silently wished he was as innocent as his social media personality was. He wished that was truly him and not just a character he played. After all, the character he created was who he always wanted to be; _Innocent, calm, childlike,_ and _kind._

He wondered what his fans would think if they saw him now, sitting limply in low yellow light, head against a cold, hard wall, knees tucked into his chest, thinking nothing remotely innocent. 

His eyes caught onto the stoic cross on his bathroom wall; it was bathed in the harsh yellow light. He then dragged his gaze to the locked phone on the corner of his cabinet.

Both inspired feelings of joy and dread. In a way, it was tearing him apart to exist between both. He didn’t know _how to exist in both._

The silence was suffocating, and the room seemed much smaller than Darryl remembered. His exhale was loud.

“Our Father,” Darryl began, almost on impulse. His voice was barely that of a whisper. “Who art in heaven…” 

The storm seemed quiet outside now. Only the soft sound of trees swaying in the wind could be heard.

His words fell silent alongside the storm. It did not feel right to pray. It did not feel right to ask for forgiveness. 

He had no idea what he should be asking forgiveness for.

He listened softly for a while. He recognized Zak’s rhythmic breaths were still ringing softly out into the bathroom.

Reaching up to the counter, Darryl slid his phone from the cabinet into his hands. He read the phone display once more.

_4:36AM. Call ongoing: Zak (07:06:36)._

He was still muted, and Zak was still on speaker. He cradled the phone between his fingers for a moment.

Snapping the phone off, he let it fall to the floor with a loud clatter. He let his head fall back onto the stone tile wall.

“I hate you more than anything in this world, Zak,” Darryl grimaced, poisoning the name on his tongue. He truly did feel that if he had not met Zak, perhaps he would not be fighting with himself as much as he was now.

“You’re tearing me apart,” Darryl groaned. He let himself slide down the wall until his back was flat against the cold bathroom tiles. He found himself once again staring up at an empty ceiling. Basking in the weak yellow light, Darryl shut his eyes. When he spoke again, his words were softer than before.

“I just don’t know how to put myself back together.”


	2. All my Friends

**Warnings: Panic attack, Implied depression**

____

Muted yellow light and a dark figure stood in front of Darryl when his eyes finally opened. 

The light was sharp to his freshly opened eyes. His brain whirred to life to piece together context clues. 

Well, it tried, at least.

"What are you doing on the bathroom floor," the figure asked flatly. The noise was irritating; Darryl groaned before rolling to his side and shutting his eyes once more. 

"Did you drink last night?" The voice inquired again; hints of amusement were thick in his voice.

Darryl ignored his question, waiting for the thick sheet of sleep to dissipate, fighting the urge to fall back to sleep. He let his slow hand find its way into his hair, pushing it back. 

Despite not touching a drop of alcohol, he felt the same exhaustion and disorientation as if he had. His mind filled with the memories of the night before; he felt dread prickling at his chest.

Despite the growing feelings of terrible, the imagery of him sitting on his bathroom floor, completely sober and alone, felt almost _silly;_ he briefly wondered if it was cruel to laugh, even if it was at himself.

Multiple seconds passed before Darryl realized how quiet everything was.

The house was quiet. After all, the house's usual sounds were absent; Rat was not barking, there was no pending Discord call, and there was no raging storm outside.

He wanted that to mean that he felt calm. 

In reality, he felt _tense_.

"Uh...Do you need help getting up?" Darryl's roommate asked, his voice slightly concerned. "Cause I kinda need to pee." 

Darryl groaned a soft _ugh_ before carefully pushing himself up. Sitting against the wall, Darryl's arm found itself blocking the dim light from his eyes.

"That light is _entirely_ too bright," Darryl blurted out, annoyed, letting his arm fall limply to his side. He felt his phone under his fingertips. Wrapping his hand around it, he pulled it to his face, attempting to click it on. He was met with his own eyes staring back at him in the reflection of the black screen.

He noticed how his eyes carried dark purple bags and how dry and pale his skin had become. 

_Is that really me?_

He remembered his phone call with Zak; Darryl never disconnected the line. He clicked the power button a few more times to no avail.

Turning his head to meet his roommate's, he found a stupid grin on his roommate's face. 

His roommate's hand was palm up, inviting Darryl to rise to his feet. "If you're going to drink, at least next time make sure you pass out in your room," his roommate remarked, amused. “Or invite me -- Seems like you had _too_ much fun last night.”

Darryl thought it was best not to correct him. Not to worry him. 

_Are you worried about me too, God?_

"Okay," Darryl muttered; placing his feet underneath him softly, he allowed himself to rise, using the cool stone wall behind him as a guide. He felt cruel nausea nipping at his throat; his vision fought with a nasty black border of disorientation. 

Darryl hadn't realized he was starting to fall until his roommate grabbed at his arm, pressing him against the wall. 

"Dude, when's the last time you ate or drank anything?" Darryl's roommate asked, hints of concern bubbling up in his words. "You gotta take care of yourself, man." 

As Darryl's vision began to clear, he pondered the question. When _was_ the last time he had eaten something?

The question was wiped from his mind as he felt his senses sharpen; the sudden movement let blood flow freely. He found himself dropping his phone into the large pocket on the front of his hoodie as he walked through the bathroom door, past his roommate, taking slow, careful steps towards his room.

He felt nervous. 

Why did he feel nervous?

Stepping cautious feet into the door of his room, he finally was forced to acknowledge how poor of shape it really was in. Ignored laundry was strewn across the floor, his desk had accumulated half-empty water bottles, and his bed was unkempt. 

Rat hopped off the bed, meeting Darryl at the door. He crouched down to pet her, a soft smile on his face.

"Good morning Rat," he muttered, petting the small white dog, letting affection leak into his voice. "Did you sleep well?" 

As his fingers traced Rat, he found his gaze looking around his room again.

Darryl was never the type to let anything of his get this dirty; he sighed, running his free hand through his hair; pulling the other hand away from Rat, he dropped it into the same pocket as his phone. 

Using the doorframe as a guide, he stood tall again, carefully stepping over Rat as he moved into his room.

When Darryl's feet met the edge of his bed, his hands tore softly at the sheets, looking for the phone charger he knew was inevitably twisted up in his blankets. 

_Goodness, this is a mess._

When he found it, he plugged his phone in, dropping it on the mess of sheets in front of him. He found himself lost for a moment; it wasn't often he found himself a spare moment as this—no Zak to text, no Tweets to respond to, no God to obsess over.

_One of those was not like the others._

Anxiety came bubbling up at his fingertips as he extended and curled his fingers over and over again.

He hated spare moments. 

Before he knew it, his hand was swiping at the water bottles at his desk, collecting them in his arms. Clumsily, he found a few escaping, falling to the floor with a soft crinkle. The noise prompted a frustrated exhale as he walked a few steps to his trash can. Collecting the stray aways, he invited them to the pile. 

The minimal effort made his room look a tad better.

Light streamed in through the window; it filled the room with a small glow. 

His steps felt slow as he walked back to his desk, straightening his keyboard and mouse. Using the sleeve of his hoodie, he wiped off his monitors, attempting to shake off the dust after pulling his hand away from them. 

The dust swam around the room for a moment before deciding to settle. Darryl did not like the thick dust now embedded into his sleeve.

Pulling the dirty hoodie off, he dropped it on the floor, kicking it out of the way of his chair. Cool air nipped at his freshly exposed arms; he disliked the sensation.

Darryl took a few steps to his closet and pulled out another hoodie, pulling it over his head, letting it fall around his torso.

Walking towards his bed and grabbing his phone between his pale fingers, he clicked it on. 

_10:48AM  
Charging: 4%. _

_Text messages:  
Zak[7:32AM]: goood mornninggg bbh  
Zak[8:48 AM]: are u feeling better  
Zak[9:17 AM]: where r u :(  
Zak[10:02 AM]: its like 10 AM over there why arent u awake lol  
Zak[10:44 AM]: are you okay?? dream just called asking about you_

_10:46 AM: Missed call from Zak_

_Discord Notifications:  
10:25 AM: Missed call from Dream  
10:31 AM: Missed call from Dream  
10:32 AM: Missed call from Sapnap  
10:36 AM: Missed call from Dream  
10:38 AM: Missed call from Antfrost  
10:42 AM: Missed call from George _

_Private Messages:  
Dream [10:45 AM]: Did you forget we're filming today?_

Darryl's eyes widened as he scrolled past the notifications. Groaning softly under his breath, he dropped the phone back on his bed and threw himself into his desk chair, pulling on his headphones with one hand and turning on his monitors with his others.

As the monitors whirred to life, Darryl's fingers tapped anxiously against his desk. He felt uncomfortable against the chair.

_Why is it taking so long for them to turn on?_

Staring at the black monitors in front of him, he was unsettled by his appearance once more. He avoided looking at himself too long; he turned his head to glance out his window. The sky was a bright shade of Floridian blue. The trees held a look of distress from the night before.

Perhaps he was too impatient; regardless, his long fingers tapped ruthlessly against the desk again.

As the displays finally flicked the blue of the Windows login screen, his head turned to observe the screen. His fingers flew to the keyboard to log in; pressing enter, he immediately launched Discord.

Darryl found frustration in the long loading times as the low computer attempted to launch both Discord and the preset startup programs.

It wasn't like him to be frustrated over such little things.

As Discord came to life, Darryl dragged his mouse to hover over the voice channel. He read the names. _Dream. George, Sapnap. Antfrost._

Clicking into the call, a chime rang out into his headphones as he joined. The call fell quiet for only a moment. 

"BAD! Where were you?" George asked, hints of amusement in his voice. "We almost started without you!" He exaggerated the last word of his sentence; the smile could be heard.

Darryl launched Minecraft as he let George speak. He let himself adjust to the change in the atmosphere; he hummed a noise of acknowledgment. 

Sapnap giggled for a moment. "He was busy with Skeppy," he teased, causing Dream to chuckle. Then, the sounds of fake smooching rose from Sapnap's mic, filling the call. George groaned, laughing.

Darryl rolled his eyes but couldn't hold back the smile on his face. He clicked the multiplayer tab on his screen; a few thoughts rolled around in his mind.

_I should spend more time with my friends._

He felt sudden guilt prickling at his throat for avoiding them. He was comforted by the fact that none of them seemed to notice.

"Sapnap, I'm going to mute you," George warned; they all knew he was only teasing. Regardless of this fact, Sapnap feigned hurt.

Darryl listened on, connecting to the server his friends sat idle in.

"Oh Georgey-Worgey, don't mwute me!" Sapnap spoke, drawing out his syllables. Darryl could imagine the grin on his face as he spoke. "Come on Antfrost, back me up here!"

"What? Take your bickering elsewhere," Antfrost laughed into the line, causing Sapnap to groan. Darryl let a small sound of interest as he joined the game, opening his inventory. His Minecraft avatar stared back at him.

Darryl waited for the chunks to load around him.

The trees swaying outside Darryl's window asked for his attention. Turning his head to watch them, he admired how beautifully green they were, despite the stress of the storm.

They seemed happy. Not like they've got problems.

_Never thought I'd be jealous of a tree,_ he thought to himself. He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. 

Darryl watched the trees dance.

"Bad?" Dream's concerned voice rang into his headphones. The aimless chatter from the other's ceased. Darryl's head turned back to his screen, letting his hands fall into his lap. "Are you listening?" 

"I'm sorry," Darryl's voice arose. His tone was downcast; he hoped they had not heard it. He made sure his tone was much more upbeat when words entered the call again: "What did you say?"

_I make a lot of mistakes, don't I?_

The call grew tense; nobody answered his question for a moment.

"I didn't sleep well," Darryl found himself explaining, hoping to ease the tension. Adding a laugh to the end of his words, Darryl spoke again. "I actually fell asleep on my bathroom floor!"

His explanation seemed to satisfy the call as they began to ask questions, creating jokes at his misfortune. He listened to them bicker back and forth, contributing where he needed.

A private message came through on Discord. It was from Dream.

_You sure you're okay?_

Darryl didn't think when he typed his reply. _Of course, I just didn’t sleep well :P._

The bickering continued in the background. Another message from Dream came through.

_I called Skeppy earlier asking for you when you didn't answer. He told me you seemed upset last night._

Darryl swallowed for a moment, apprehension building behind his fingers as he typed his reply. 

_I’m okay, dont worry :)._

The bickering was silenced by Dream clearing his throat. "You guys ready to record?"

Then, another private message came through.

_I’m just worried about you,_ it read. Darryl's fingers hovered over his keyboard. 

His eyes landed back on Minecraft, closing out his inventory. 

"Yeah, let's start recording. I already delayed us enough."

\--

When recording had ceased, discussion found itself to be less and less of a viable option. 

Antfrost was the first to drop from the call, citing a doctor's appointment. Then, it had been George, stating he needed to get groceries and prepare for dinner. Then, Sapnap spoke up.

"I'm heading out," Sapnap spoke, causing Dream to groan. "I got homework to do, man!" Sapnap explained, laughing slightly. "Bye Bad, bye Dream!"

After a moment, a small chime indicated Sapnap had left the call. BadBoyHalo stared at the voice channel for a moment, realizing he and Dream were alone. 

There were a few aloof beats of silence.

"You never answered me back, Bad," Dream's voice arose. It was careful, Darryl noticed. It was warm, but _careful._

"Oh, you know I'm fine," Darryl laughed into the line, feeling looser than when he had first entered the call. "I really did actually sleep on a bathroom floor, you know."

Darryl let his head fall back on his chair, a small smile on his face. "It's a long story, actually, I--"

"If you ever need to talk to someone, you know I'm here, right?" Dream interrupted, speaking slowly, making sure Darryl really understood his words. 

Darryl took a few moments to let them linger.

"Yeah, I know Dream," Darryl spoke into his mic as he lifted his head. "When did you want to do that stream you mentioned earlier? Jackbox could be fun."

His fingers found themselves anxiously drumming against the wooden desk.

Dream ignored his question. "Is it about Skeppy?" Dream asked in return, his voice inquisitive. "I know it's stressful to meet up with people for the first time," Dream offered kindly, his voice softer than usual.

Dream's words let a memory surface in Darryl's mind, filling his senses. He found himself staring at his screen once more, many weeks ago. 

"Bad, you said we were going to meet in 2020!" Zak groaned into the line, exaggerating his words for the entertainment of his stream. 

"It's not my fault I got sick!" Darryl wailed in his mic, hand banging against his desk. He watched the chat fly by, nearly too fast to read a single message.

A smile crept onto Darryl's face as Zak giggled.

"Bad, when I turn 21, we are meeting, I don't care if you say no. I will drive over there myself," Zak said, making his voice low and serious. "I literally have your address."

Darryl smiled softly.

"I won't let you in if you come uninvited, you muffinhead! That's just rude," Darryl said between his chuckles. "We gotta plan it first, Skeppy -- Oh! We could go to the park!"

"Yeah yeah, the park. Anyway," Zak paused, chuckling into the line. "You know how I'll be 21? I think we should do a drinking stream."

Darryl frowned momentarily. "As long as we're safe with it," Darryl said slowly. "But you definitely need to meet Rat first!" 

Darryl drew in a breath, halting his drumming tirade as the memory fell away. His eyes landed uncertainty on the silent cross on his wall.

_God_ , Darryl began, _what’s different from now and then?_

The answer did not come.

_Perhaps you’re punishing me._

"I'm fine, Dream," Darryl spoke, his voice a little harsher than he intended it to be, eyes falling back on his screen.

He felt his fingers begin to drum again, faster this time, pain nipping at his fingertips. 

Dream said nothing as he listened to the ambient drumming between them.

"I'm sorry," Darryl breathed out into his mic, letting his head fall back into his chair. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

There were a few more beats of silence, then Dream cleared his throat.

"Darryl, please tell me what the hell is wrong." His tone was harsh; it stung Darryl for a moment. 

_God hates me, Dream._

"Obviously something is wrong. It's not like you to act like this," Dream spoke again, his tone a little softer than before.

Darryl halted his drumming. He let his hand fall into his lap.

_Answer me, God. What the hell_ is _wrong with me?_

"Then how am I supposed to act, Dream?" Darryl spat sourly, grabbing his mic. "What do you want me to do?" Darryl said, stressing the words as he spoke.

_What do I have to do to make you love me again, God?_

"What do I need to tell you to believe that I'm fine? _Please_ tell me how I’m supposed to act. I'd really like to know myself." 

_God, I promise--_

Dream was quiet. Darryl was quiet. 

_I really didn't mean to fall in love with Zak._

Darryl's screen turned black from idle activity; he found himself peering into his very own eyes. He found his eyes tracing the edges of his reflection. Darryl's chest began to burn.

Was he really the kind of person to snap at his friends like that? 

_God isn’t listening, is he?_

"Dream, I gotta go." 

When his hand touched his mouse, the screen lit up once more. With a swift click, he disconnected from the call.

It was like acid had been poured all over him.

Darryl pushed away from his desk in a hurry, feet moving towards his bed.

It felt like he couldn't breathe; it felt like his breaths were inefficient. 

_I just keep screwing things up, don't I?_

He found no time to process his own thoughts. With his hand on his phone, he clicked it on.

He clicked Zak's contact with trembling fingers, selecting his phone number. He held the call to his ear.

_Please answer me._

A soft, ringing tone filled his ear.

_Answer._

The ringing paused, then continued. Darryl ached.

_If not God, then you._

Darryl counted the ringing.

_One, two, three, four--_

"Hi Bad," Zak's voice rang out. Darryl felt the dread untwist in his stomach, but his breathing was uneven and shallow.

_I’ve missed you._

"Darryl? Are you alright?" Zak's concerned voice rang out into the line again. "Darryl, are you there?"

"I- I miss you Zak," was all Darryl could say before the burning sensation grabbed a tight hold on his throat. 

He felt himself crumble upon the bed next to him, lying next to the pile of twisted sheets. Warm tears pricked at his eyes but never fell.

He cradled his phone to his ear as if it was Zak himself. 

"Are you safe?" Zak asked, his voice troubled.

"I...Yes." Darryl stated, shutting his eyes, focusing on his words.

"Did you sleep?" Zak asked next, slightly calmer than before.

"Yes. Yes. I… I slept, yes," Darryl answered hoarsely, forcing a breath out of him. His fingernail scraped against the back of his phone.

"Have you eaten today?" Zak asked in succession. 

"No, No," Darryl admitted, shaking his head. He felt his breathing slow as his fingers danced against the back of his phone.

"That's okay, that's okay. Any water? Zak asked softly.

"No, I'm sorry," Darryl whispered out in the line. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's okay, Darryl. It's alright. Now what's going on? Do you want to talk about it?" Zak spoke slowly over the phone.

"God hates me, Zak. He hates me. He keeps punishing me over and over and… I can't do it, Zak," Darryl stated uncertainly. Zak was silent for a moment.

"Darryl, what do you mean God hates you?" Zak's voice entered their space. He kept his tone low and kind. "I'm sure he doesn't hate you."

"You.. You don't get it. It's like.. He's everywhere… I can't stop thinking, Zak. No matter what I do, I never stop thinking," Darryl breathed out. "And now Dream's mad at me, and, and--"

“Dream’s _worried_ about you, not mad,” Zak interrupted. "He called me asking about you earlier when you didn't pick up his calls. I uh... I told him I was worried about you, too." 

_Oh, the last thing I'd ever want to do is worry you, Zak._

Zak cleared his throat. "I know you're going through something, just not _what_. And Darryl, _I know you_. Don't be upset about worrying me."

Darryl took a moment to consider his words. He began to clench and unclench his teeth in worry.

"Sometimes it's alright to worry people. I'm _so_ proud that you reached out and called me, you know," Zak spoke kindly.

"You don't have to be okay all of the time. Could you imagine how you'd feel if I hid what was troubling me? How'd you feel if you couldn't help me?" Zak's words pleaded with Darryl's heart.

There were a few beats of silence, only soft breathing over the line.

"So just let me worry, Darryl. I _want_ to worry about you," Zak whispered. Darryl felt his chest filling with hot air, pressing against the hoodie. 

His grip on the phone loosen. The sheets underneath him felt cold.

"Okay, okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Our Foundations

**Warnings: Religious Trauma, Mentioned Homophobia, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms**

\----

In complete honesty, Darryl couldn’t care less about how the world had warped around him.

Warm water trickled down his face, falling slow, sliding down his cheek and off his jawline. The water slid down through his hair, down his back, falling silently onto the floor below him.

_My foundation is destined to keep crumbling._

His long, slender fingers found themselves in his hair; they fell through with little resistance. He let his forehead meet the ivory of his shower but found it hard to keep his head from slipping. 

The quiet, excluding the soft pitter-patter of water on ivory, was mocking Darryl. Taunting him, even; daring more excitement to fill the environment around him.

Darryl found no resistance as he took a stroll through his own mind, hot steam accumulating with every breath.

He imagined that Zak was in front of him, basking in the warmth of the shower. Darryl’s eyes would scan the soft, delicate back profile in front of him. Water would slide through his dark locks, past his shoulders, and down his arms.

Darryl pictured himself sliding his long, slender fingers around Zak’s bare waist; he imagined his head falling between the neck and shoulder of his own god.

Soft kisses would be placed on flushed, warm skin; they’d be placed carefully, as an offering.

He could almost feel how his fingers would prod softly against Zak’s skin, feeling the water slide past them, pulling Zak closer to him. 

Water would fall from Darryl’s head onto Zak’s chest; soft teeth would nibble at the smaller man’s composure. 

Darryl could almost hear Zak’s breathy whimpers, brave threats of crumbling. Soft sounds of air being sucked between teeth would coexist so harmoniously with the obscene sounds of wet shower kisses.

Darryl would move his hands up, tracing the soft outline of the man beneath him. His touch would be soft enough to leave lingering feelings of sickly sweet dread.

Zak would turn to face him, Darryl decided, and would take a journey into Darryl’s icy, clouded eyes. 

And Zak would wander, too, on the brink of crumbling between Darryl’s gaze and his hands.

Darryl’s hands would find themselves exploring the dainty man’s heavenly appearance. They’d drag slowly upwards, feeling how Zak’s chest would heave beneath his touch.

Slowly, they’d drag upwards, stopping to trace Zak’s collarbones, then tracing a vein along his neck.

His hand would eventually tilt Zak’s face to meet his; soft beads of water would dance upon his face, lips slightly open, brows furrowed cautiously. 

Eventually, Darryl’s lips would be ghosting so near salvation; he’d pull away for a moment, only to see Zak following, hoping to close the gap between them.

_A part of you is a part of this, Zak._

Darryl could feel Zak’s hot breath against his lips. Overstimulation would begin to build at his fingertips as the sound of breathy moans, pelting water, and roaring thoughts built the house of cards around him.

Salvation would eventually come, but not for Darryl.

So when his eyes eventually opened once more, there was nobody there. His shower had grown cold and unpleasant; in its wake left clarity. 

Guilt pricked against his fingertips. He slammed his hands flat against his shower wall in retaliation. Anger began bubbling up incredulously quick as Darryl drew in a hesitant, pained breath.

_Who gives a fuck?_

The word was sour on his mind as he stepped out of the shower, wet hands grabbing at his phone, clicking it on.

_3:47am  
No older notifications._

Cool air met his skin, missing the warm water from only moments prior.

Drawing his hand back, Darryl spun on his heels, shutting the shower off. The room grew hushed; for once, Darryl welcomed it. 

The soft, muted glow of the bathroom was intensely dull; Darryl’s eyes flicked over the cross on his wall with little intent on dwelling on it.

His hands worked at pulling his clothes over his cold, pale skin, mind whirling with a mix of emotions, replying to the scene from the shower, recalling the feeling of hot flesh against his fingertips, breathy moans in his ears.

When he finally emerged from his bathroom, he seemed worse than wear; heat pooled in his abdomen as he carefully rolled over the scene from before. Steps from the bathroom to his bedroom occurred with little consideration; hands throwing open his closet were running on autopilot. With a hard swallow and thoughts of avoidance, Darryl was pulling an ill-fitting sweater over his blazing skin, leaving a very concerned Rat in his wake.

Before he had time to consider his options, Darryl was already out of his bedroom’s threshold; the soft sweater hung slack against his frame, and his large hands pulled at the collar at his annoyance of the texture. His quiet steps were already down his hallway, past his obvious roommate’s door, and silent against the back door to his home. Rat followed attentively, possibly rolling over the idea of a walk, unable to understand time nor context.

He pulled on a pair of shoes as he flipped the lock on the door in front of him; he did not bother to lock it behind him as he stepped out, leaving Rat to stare at him for a moment through the glass door. There was little need to do so; his home resided in a lesser populated locale. Only a long street with an unkempt and rocky pavement from the sixties connected the houses here; the nearest place to Darryl’s was half a mile out.

The wind threw his sopping wet hair in random directions; his feet began to move, step by step, until he found himself standing alone on the pavement next to his home, eyes tracing the house’s exterior, hands shoved thoughtlessly in the pockets of his unwashed pants. 

His next breath was clear, strong, and liberating; A smile spread across Darryl’s face.

He found himself walking. Step after step. Not a single thought in his head, for once. Guilt did not poke at his fingertips this evening, nor did rage race the edges of his lungs.

Unremarkably so; feelings of bright color still threatened their arrival as the wind whipped angrily around him.

Leaves rustled around Darryl, excited by the wind. The sounds of distant animals fed the atmosphere of lone; there were only two street lights on this street, Darryl noticed.

Darryl’s steps became louder, heavier, and quicker; pain struck through his legs, his lungs burned. 

No, there were more than two street lights. The others had just burnt out without repair; Darryl was all too familiar with the shortcomings of his own local government.

His shoes nipped at the heels of his feet, soaked in evidence of the storm just nights before. The air ripped past him, clothes rubbing intensely against his skin.

There was a moment or two where Darryl nearly took a tumble, tripping on the cracked and uneven pavement as the ground sank lower and lower every decade. The muted glow of the streetlamps did not reach as far as he would’ve preferred; the only light source now came from the occasional car passing by.

The night air was so humid, Darryl found himself thinking, head pounding, knees threatening to give way to the pressure.

Darryl had no idea how long he had been running for; it did not matter. The sharp pain engulfing his body served as an excellent offering as a distraction.

Regardless, Darryl pressed on. He watched heat lightning fly through the sky as it often did. He watched the cloudy night sky follow his every pounding step.

Soft, rolling thunder occasionally interrupted the sounds of crickets, leaves, and scuffed shoes on the pavement.

The edges of his vision began to dip into black spots of an impossible color but not colorful enough to even dare to call Darryl’s attention.

It was the bright neon sign that eventually forced Darryl to stop. 

_OPEN 24/7_

When he dragged his oxygen-deprived vision upwards, he was met with the simple Chevron sign. Trashy, unkempt flashing lights danced around the border of it.

Pain caught up with Darryl for a moment, winding him. He bowed over in agony as he tried a few times to draw a breath with little success.

When he finally did stand, he found an old man leaning against a gas pump, cigarette in hand, watching him with disinterest; Darryl thought for a moment that it was silly to have a cigarette near such a flammable substance. The dingy, mellow light of the gas station illuminated the man’s face, merely nodding at Darryl.

Darryl offered a small nod in return.

A few steps later, he was inside the small, dingy gas station, past the man pumping his gas. Darryl felt that perhaps this little gas station was more humid than the Floridian air; it was apparent that no type of air circulation occurred here. 

The clerk looked at Darryl inquisitively but made little conversation besides bored body language. He was leaning over the counter, a phone in his hands, earbuds in his ear, tasing the stale air on his tongue as he mouthed along to his music.

Darryl walked up and down the isles of the understocked gas station, gross, annoying club music circulating the room. His fingers grabbed at a bag of off-brand Cheetos, hilariously named cheese sticks, and tucked it under his arms. He grabbed at a cheap bottle of water from the freezer and relished in the cold temperature on his fingers.

Dropping his items on the counter, Darryl reached into his dirty pants pockets, pulling out the loose, messy change.

“2.53,” the cashier mumbled, bored, eyes glazed over and tired. Darryl’s hands worked quickly at the change, pulling apart the quarters from the rest, sorting the cash silently, nausea bubbling up his throat as exhaustion began to hit him.

When he stepped out of the gas station, he found himself slumping against the side of the building, feet against the concrete, hands pulling apart the bag of chips.

The old man from before was long gone now; the landscape in front of him consisted of empty gas pumps, poorly lit uneven concrete, and a desolate road ahead.

With trembling hands, Darryl’s hand sank into the bag. The first chip was like heaven; the second reminded him that he was eating a likely expired bag of off-brand Cheetos from a 24/7 gas station in an arguably unpopular part of town.

He chased down the chips with water; it felt heavenly.

Darryl’s gaze fell upon the dark, cloudy sky. A sigh rolled from his lips.

“You know what? I don’t care that you’re out to get me,” Darryl muttered, feelings of full leaving him uncomfortably sick.

“Why’d you let people be gay if you hate them so much? It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Darryl laughed. “I know we’re supposed to have freedom of choice, but you created everything, God. You know the past, the present, and the future for everyone; is that really freedom of choice?”

Darryl wasn’t angry, nor did feelings of upset dwell in his throat.

The sun began to peek over the horizon now; on impulse, he reached for his phone to snap a photo for Zak, only to find his pocket empty. After a moment of panic, he concluded that he must’ve left it on his bathroom counter, wet and forgotten.

He let a chuckle fall from his lips so calmly, a stark contrast to how he felt things had been going until now. Darryl let his head fall back, slumped against the old, dirty gas station alone.

Darryl never really considered how tired he was of fighting. He hated bouncing between his emotions as frequently as he had been; Darryl hated how anger could come bubbling up so unpredictably; he hated the guilt that nipped at his fingertips. After all, impulse brought him here, alone and torn.

He hated the frequent adverse reactions of panic, the feelings of devoted unmotivation. 

The stress that came with loving your straight best friend; the stress that came from the ever-pending judgment of _not_ being straight.

The convoluted, stringy ideal conclusions that Darryl could not settle on weighed on him, too. He didn’t know if he wanted to be straight or to have everyone accept that he wasn’t. Neither decision was evident to him; neither seemed particularly appetizing. 

To somehow have the world love him as he is, to somehow have his straight best friend in his arms, to somehow have his family love him all the same.

Too many unlikely scenarios to meet the ideal; Darryl felt utterly defeated. But let’s not get it twisted; defeat and throwing in the towel were two different things. 

And after all, Darryl had not thrown in the towel yet; Zak would be in Florida in mere hours, and Darryl knew he should start making his way home to prepare to pick him up from the airport.

God could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are GREATLY appreciated. I'd actually love to hear feedback; What do you like about this fic? What do you dislike? Do you find that my writing style is too wordy or descriptive, or not enough?
> 
> Thank you so much to anyone who takes the time to answer my questions. 
> 
> Also, working on a fairly long chapter for this work, stick around! Thank you!


	4. As you are

**Warnings: Religious Trauma, Depersonalization**

\----

Despite how exhaustion tugged relentlessly against his body, Darryl still found himself on time, perhaps even early, stood firmly by baggage. 

He felt simultaneously floaty and heavy from lack of sleep as if he bordered the brink of manic energy or a steep decline of pending suspended existence.

The airport air was stale; Darryl leaned against a nearby, shockingly cold pillar, phone in his hands, keys hanging out his pocket. Despite his calm, collected manner, his mind was racing with every thought of not.

Endless what-ifs trampled his mind, bouncing back and forth against his skull, leaving the sickly feeling of apprehension in their wake. What if Zak hated Florida? What if Zak changes his mind and wants to leave immediately? What if things are just, _different?_

What if Zak finds out how he really feels?

Darryl's head fell back on the pillar; he felt that he did not have enough energy to lift it. In addition to that, Darryl's left leg started to burn a familiar feeling that a pulled muscle often occupies; he silently cursed his early morning endeavors with a pass of his tongue. 

The worst of it all was the nauseating realization that Zak would be _here,_ any moment now. 

Years of conversation, planning, recording; all culminating until now. Anticipation bubbled beneath Darryl's eyelids; bright, elaborate illusions of what-if played on loop -- ideas of love, ideas of hate, ideas of the existence of those therein. 

And so when Darryl pulled his head from the pillar, listening to the soft chatter of the airport, and his eyes met Zak's searching eyes, it felt utterly surreal. He wondered, briefly, if he had fallen asleep; he pondered the possibility of a sleep-heavy hallucination or another _nearly_ harmless illusion playing hauntingly sweet in his mind.

It was true, Darryl concluded, that people indeed do look different in person; despite Zak's face covered by a mask, Darryl could make out the robust features painted across his face. The artist must've spent hours on this masterpiece, from how perfect strands of dark hair fell into his face, from how his mask hugged the powerful definition of his jaw. Zak's thick eyebrows framed his face, screaming every emotion effortlessly, pairing with every glance of his dark but sprinkling eyes.

Darryl found himself absolutely captivated; He silently thanked God for the mask over his own face, hiding the obviously slacked jaw. 

This time, he forced down the feelings of ungodly religious guilt; very rarely did something rival God, but _damn._

The piercing feelings of shock, adulation, and devastation shot through Darryl when Zak finally caught his eyes with Darryl; despite the mask, a large, hypnagogic smile appeared on the shorter man's face. 

The aimless airport chatter with so unbelievably unimportant; Darryl swore he could hear Zak's soft breaths from there, gentle feet snapping at the ground, clothes breezing against his skin.

Since when did things become so loud? 

Moments later, he was hugging Darryl, arms wrapped tightly around him. Zak was firm, Darryl thought, and stronger than he once thought. Darryl moved his arms to reciprocate, but his touch was delicate as if he was afraid to break him; part of him still tugged at the idea of illusion and dream.

His arms felt bizarrely comfortable holding Zak, in the exact same way they felt thick sin weighing heavy on his conscience; he balled and stretched his hands multiple times in an attempt to disregard.

"You're here," Darryl breathed out, words falling from his lips quicker than he could understand them; Darryl felt a vibration through his chest as Zak laughed into him.

"Yeah, I am. I'm here," Zak's words arose, muffled but obviously tightly intertwined with feelings of exhilaration; his arms squeezed tightly at Darryl's waist, letting his head fall into his shoulder. 

When Zak finally pulled from the embrace, he took a moment to put himself shoulder to shoulder with Darryl. He straightened his back, raising his heels slightly, elongating his neck. 

The moment of overwhelming sweet culmination of years of emotion came to a fierce halt, all due to a height complex.

"I'm taller than you," Zak smugly said, a cocky grin resting on his lips, eyes narrowed. Darryl let a chuckle dance between them for a moment, mumbling a soft noise of acknowledgment. "It's alright, Bad. People are used to being short around me," he joked, crossing his arms over his chest, words trailing off as Darryl pushed himself up from leaning on the pillar, standing solidly on his feet, nodding slightly, now a few inches above Zak.

"Oh yeah, definitely," Darryl spoke, looking down at Zak, whose face contorted into that of a sour one. "I think we have a step ladder at the house, if that makes you feel better." 

Zak playfully hit Darryl, wrinkling his nose, turning towards the baggage conveyor belt, and giving Darryl his cold shoulder. "My suitcase is red, kinda big. Can you help me look out for it?" 

"Changing the topic already?" Darryl mumbled, smiling softly under his mask, eyes turning upwards, nudging Zak slightly. Zak shot another bitter, banterous look before turning back towards the baggage, hands wrapping around his phone as he powered it on. 

Darryl watched him from behind for a moment as he answered texts, admiring his features, feeling a soft pride breeding through his chest. He felt gross for how he watched him; regardless, Darryl was curious how he moved and responded.

"Is that your suitcase, Ske-- Zak?" Darryl asked, pointing towards a sizable red suitcase with a small blue tag on it, taking a few tentative steps towards the conveyor belt, tearing his eyes from the shorter man. Looking up, Zak's eyebrows cocked in surprise. 

"Oh yeah, that's it," Zak exclaimed, shoving his phone in his pocket before following Darryl's steps towards the suitcase. A few steps behind Darryl, he picked up nearly instantly on the taller man's limp.

"What happened to your leg?" Zak asked head cocked slightly to the side, concern bubbling up in his voice, following Darryl. Darryl looked back for a moment, eyes locking with Zak's, uncomfortable by the sudden concern.

"I think I pulled a muscle, not really that big of a deal," Darryl mumbled; his hands pulled the red suitcase down from the conveyor belt, letting Zak wrap his hands around the handle. Zak nodded for a moment, thinking, before extending the grip on his suitcase. 

"Is this the one?" Darryl asked, flipping the plastic tag in his fingers. Zak hummed out a response in the affirmative, allowing Darryl to let the tag slip through his fingers. 

Zak decided to not press on the story of the pulled muscle but found himself offering his arm out; Darryl's brows furrowed, soft feelings of awkwardness nipping at his fingertips as he glanced at it uncertainly, shaking his head to decline.

"I can walk just fine, it just hurts a bit, that's all," Darryl answered, hands up slightly, unable to understand the flickering emotion behind Zak's eyes.

The walk to the car was admittedly uncomfortable; Darryl found words hard to form with the thought of his slim, slender feelings wrapped around Zak's warm skin. Would he consider pulling away, apologizing, holding tighter -- anything -- before concluding that he was thinking about this _entirely_ too much?

Should he apologize for not taking his arm? Would it have helped him?

Would he have held Zak's hand, fingers falling between his, curling around his hand? Would Zak pull his hand away or keep holding his hand? Would he like it as he did? Would he feel guilty?

With a swift movement, the thoughts were dismissed, and the suitcase was securely placed in the back seat of his truck; Darryl moved to the front seat, planting himself firmly on the old chair, observing as Zak pulled himself into the truck. 

"Cool ride," Zak spoke, cracking at the heavy atmosphere, fingers dancing carefully over Darryl's interior. As Darryl started the truck, eyes watching Zak's fingers, he cleared his throat, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

"It's a 1970 Chevrolet. Four-wheel drive," Darryl spoke, eyes sparkling, pressing on the gas. "It was my granddad's, then my dad's, then mine. It could probably be worth a lot of money if I cleaned it up a bit." 

"Really?" Zak asked, smiling, tracing along with the line present on the dashboard, mischief bubbling up in his words. "I don't really know a lot about cars… Except for that sports cars get all the ladies, Bad!"

"Eugh, Skeppy!" Darryl laughed, turning his head slightly to steal greedy glances of the shorter, softer man, banter floating between the two. "Maybe I don't want ladies," Darryl finished, words rolling out of his mouth before he had time to consider them: his features contorted into feelings of realization. His hands gripped tighter at the steering wheel.

"Okay, I did not-- I did not mean it to come out that way," Darryl spoke, a rolling laugh erupting from both of their lips, his head falling onto the steering wheel for only a moment. Zak's laughter filled the truck with such a beautiful sound; Darryl hoped and prayed to every god it would never stop.

"I meant like, I don't-- Like-- I don't want a car to get romantic attraction-- Like not _men,_ per say, but--" laughter became more rigid, and before long, high pitched laughter morphed into silent gasping for air. Darryl's face was hot with embarrassment as he pulled a hand back from the steering wheel to hide it. "Oh my goodness, I'm digging myself into a bigger hole." 

"There's no other way to take that," Zak laughed, words dissolving into fits of laughter, the air being sucked in through his teeth. Darryl felt a slick calm wash over him as he acknowledged the comfortable, familiar banter; any feelings of uncomfortable what-ifs seemed to wash away with every fluid giggle from Zak's lips. 

Until arrival, the drive from then until appearance was similar, Darryl thought, to the many calls they'd had over the years. It was captivating how well Zak could distract him from all the bubbling, toxic thoughts; He appreciated the break from it all.

How was it that Zak not only caused the problems but somehow fixed them? Darryl did not dwell on it long as they pulled up to his home, roommate's car missing, sliding into the empty garage. 

Darryl felt a bizarre mix of joy, dread -- simultaneous discomfort, and comfort. Oh, to celebrate or to cry. 

After a quick introduction to Rat, a small tour, and ordering pizza, Darryl offered to set up his workstation for recording on the account that Zak had to order spinach on the pizza.

After a small argument, they settled on half spinach, half cheese pizza. 

Darryl found himself sitting on the floor of his spare bedroom, partially under a desk, pulling computer parts from a red suitcase. His fingers worked at plugging things in; computer and monitor power supply, then display port, headsets, and mics. He let the task consume him as he tied away cables, a lingering habit from his former jobs, wrapping cords tightly and securely to the leg of the table, out of the way of potential, kicking feet.

When Darryl sat back on his hands to observe his handiwork, he realized he'd need to hardwire Zak's console; pulling himself to his feet with the kind assistance from the desk, he was already pushing himself out of the doorframe of Zak's new room, turning towards his own, digging through his mind on where he'd last seen his RJ45's. 

When he stepped into his own doorway, his eyes caught on to Zak; Zak's fingers were dancing over a photo of Darryl and his family before dropping past it to drag along the rough, callus texture of the cross below it. 

His head snapped to the side to meet Darryl's eyes; his hands hesitated, unsure whether to pull back or not, brows furrowing slightly.

The air was grossly humid; trees swayed silently outside of the window of his room. The silence engulfed the scene before it.

Both knew that the heavy air was begging both to discuss that phone call, Darryl's desperate attempt at calling upon any sort of aid.

How shattered Darryl's voice sounded that day.

_God hates me, Zak. He hates me. He keeps punishing me over and over and… I can't do it, Zak._

How tender Zak's voice sounded that day.

_So just let me worry, Darryl. I want to worry about you._

Darryl's heart hurt. Guilt sprang to his skin as red splotches of embarrassment at what he had told Zak. It scared him to be so swayed by one individual; it burned at his hands like nails driven through a cross.

"Darryl," Zak breathed, finger still ghosting over the cross. Darryl could not afford vulnerability; he discarded it at the peril of himself.

He had never brought that conversation up again; he intended on keeping it that way.

"I just need to find some ethernet cables," Darryl mumbled, taking hurried steps towards his closet, throwing it open, and digging through storage containers. "The wireless network is kinda spotty and the modem isn't really designed--" 

Darryl felt a hand sink onto his shoulder. A warm, kind gesture; acknowledgment of avoidance, offering of support -- leaving a sickly burning feeling of guilt in its wake.

"Are we streaming tonight?" Zak asked softly; Darryl felt his kind eyes following him as his hands were swallowed with endless defunct wire types, adaptors, and VGA cables. Darryl, overwhelmed, stuttered out a two-toned noise of no. 

"' M tired," Darryl mumbled, pulling a lime green cable from the ruckus, eyes counting the colors on the end of the registered jack. "You probably are, too. I just want to get you set up so you can have something to do." 

Zak hummed in agreement, watching Darryl count, staring intently at the apparent head of a cable. Clearing his throat, he spoke once more. "What are you counting?" 

"The colors," Darryl stated simply. "White-green, green, white-orange, blue, white-blue, orange, white-brown, brown. It's the color pinout sequence for an RJ45."

Zak watched in confusion as soft pride swole in his chest. "What's an RJ45?" 

"Registered jack 45. Also called an ethernet cable, network cable, eight-p eight-c…." Darryl trailed off, rising to his feet, rolling the lime cable in his hands. "Had to learn about it when I studied computer science."

"What's a pinout?" Zak asked, words tumbling from his lips before he'd considered them, watching interestedly as Darryl's long fingers held the cable to his eye line, pointing at the colored wires inside. 

"It's the color arrangement," Darryl explained softly. "Makes it work." 

"Oh," Zak stated, a small smile on his face as Darryl pulled the lime cable away, untangling the other end. "Could you teach it to me someday?" He asked, causing swelling feelings of joy to surge through Darryl's chest, hands pausing around the wires.

"'Course I can, Skep," He smiled, eyes faltering for only a moment; He hoped Zak had not seen the adulation dancing between his eyes as his hands began to pull at the cable once more.

\---

It all happened a little too fast for Darryl’s liking; In his defense, you did not need to _like_ something to _love_ it. 

Darryl's leg slid between Zak's as his hands slid up his torso, over his arms, and over his cheeks. Darryl was absolutely falling, undeniably so, lost in Zak's dark eyes and how they moved; The way his eyes jumped from Darryl's lips to his own clouded eyes inspired feelings of complete adulation.

Darryl hovered over Zak, one hand beside Zak's head, holding himself up, the other tracing small circles into Zak's cheek. Zak nuzzled into his hand, pressing little kisses to his fingers, sending spiraling feelings of muted, passionate excitement throughout his body.

"Darryl," Zak whispered, voice eager, eyes flashing between his own, his own fingers tracing Darryl's spine. Darryl dropped his hand from Zak's face and let it fall next to his head, holding himself up and over Zak. 

"Darryl," Zak repeated as Darryl lowered himself on Zak, letting his lips touch Zak's neck, placing small, delicate kisses against him. He mumbled into his neck, acknowledging Zak's beckoning, biting softly at the sensitive skin, leaving pretty little marks.

Darryl's hand found itself flat on Zak's chest, wandering, ghosting over the warm, flushed flesh. His fingers dragged along softly, causing Zak's muscles to spasm underneath his touch; a sharp inhale could be heard from Zak. 

"You're so pretty," Darryl mumbled into Zak's neck. "So pretty," he repeated, moving his head up to place a soft kiss against Zak's temple. Darryl watched Zak's eyes flutter shut; Darryl knew compliments flustered the smaller man, chuckle erupting from his throat. 

"You're pretty too," Zak mumbled out, embarrassed, causing Darryl to wear a warm, kind expression. Zak's never been too good with his words; Darryl decided he'd solve that problem for him.

Darryl's lips moved to Zak's, ghosting over them slightly, feeling Zak's exasperated and hot breath on his lips. When they did meet, Darryl smiled into the kiss; Zak's arms snaked around Darryl's neck, pulling him as close as possible. 

Zak began to grow impatient; he began to move underneath Darryl, letting his own hands wander over the older man's body, snaking them underneath his shirt. Darryl groaned into the kiss at the new sensation; he pulled away, face flushed, overstimulated. 

"Is this okay?" Zak asked carefully as Darryl avoided his gaze, heat bubbling up as a deep blush. His lips were slightly parted, eyes clouded, and beads of sweat covering his face; Zak's hand froze under Darryl's shirt as he waited for a response. 

As a response, Darryl placed his lips on Zak's neck again, too embarrassed to meet his gaze, and mumbled a noise of acknowledgment; Darryl guided Zak's hands with his own, showing that indeed it was alright for him to continue. 

"Just tell me to stop if it's too much," Zak spoke, hand once again snaking up his torso. His long fingers were soft against his chest, stopping for a moment to feel how wildly his heart was beating. As his hands crawled up farther, his mobility was limited by the shirt still hanging on Darryl's body. Both of Zak's hands grabbed at the fabric, tugging up slightly on it.

Darryl got the motion immediately and sat up to pull the shirt off of him; his arms crossed over his torso as he pulled the shirt over his head, discarding it off to the side. Zak met Darryl in this new position; he began to place soft kisses along his chest, fingers running up and down his spine. Darryl moaned a quiet, hesitant noise as Zak nipped at his skin experimentally with his teeth; the noise only seemed to inspire Zak further. 

Zak's kisses became stronger, hands holding firmly against Darryl's sides, holding him carefully, feeling the man tremble under his touch. When he pulled away from Darryl's torso, he carefully examined his face; Darryl's face was flushed red, lips parted, eyes hazy, hands in his hair. 

Zak admired him for a moment, placing a soft kiss against his salty lips, running one of his hands through Darryl's hair.

Darryl watched Zak pull away from him for a moment, feeling Zak use his empty hand to find itself under his chin, rubbing small circles against his bottom lip. Darryl melted under his touch, occasionally placing little kisses on his thumb. 

"Darryl, you know what?" Zak whispered, leaning closer to Darryl's lips, a small smile on his lips. Darryl hummed acknowledgment, eyes watching Zak's lips, darting up to meet his eyes.

"It's a little messed up to dream about sleeping with a straight man," Zak spat, letting a chuckle from his lips, eyes dark and unforgiving. "What would your mom think? What would Zak think? What would _God_ think?” 

Darryl's eyes clicked open, and he sat up instantly, chest heaving, sweat drenching the hair on his forehead. The disorientation began to fade as his eyes began to adjust to the darkroom, and his chest began to slow with every next breath. 

The stark contrast from an overwhelming, heated situation to a remarkably boring one left lingering touch against his body and mind.

Darryl found that his hands were trembling; swinging his legs off his bed, he quickly found himself in a different situation needing to be addressed. Making his way to the bathroom, luckily nearby, Darryl felt the sticky feelings of guilt beginning to bubble up within him again; dreaming of his best friend while he was only rooms away was a new low, not even Darryl thought he'd reach. 

His house was quiet, as it often was, but every part of it irked him.

Embarrassment -- or maybe shame -- was the most prominent pillar in his emotions this taunting evening; Darryl would like to escape it, as he always did. Darryl cleaned himself off, eyes avoiding the ever judgemental cross on his wall, discomfort bubbling at his fingertips. 

He tried his best to occupy his mind of other things; Darryl found little success in that task. His heart was still racing, and he was desperate to slow it.

When he finally left the bathroom, Darryl returned to his room and his closet, sifting through the clothes. He pulled out a remarkably boring outfit, he acknowledged and began to change into it.

_It's a little messed up to dream about sleeping with a straight man._

That spiteful sentence found itself bouncing through Darryl's mind, regardless of his attempt to steer clear of it; It found itself creeping through his mind, his soul, prickling up in his stomach as the unremarkable feeling of dread.

Once more, a foot out beyond the threshold of his door, he plotted his escape from the burning thoughts; Rat followed him along curiously, her soft feet tapping against the floor.

Walking silently through the darkness of his house, Darryl made his way to the backdoor, on autopilot, of course, mind anywhere but here.

"Bad? Where are you going?" A voice broke the air, leaving the atmosphere crumbling, causing Darryl to nearly jump out of his skin. Darryl stumbled backward, tripping on perhaps nothing and landing level on the floor.

The darkness of the room fought hand to hand with the adrenaline surging through his blood as Darryl scrambled on the ground in an attempt to make the internal dialogue of the situation presented. 

"You okay?" Zak asked, flipping on the living room's light switch, a chuckle falling from his lips. "I didn't mean to scare you, I swear," Zak defended, hands up, approaching Darryl. 

Darryl shook his head, feeling his pulse begin to regulate as he realized that no robbery was taking place. Rat found herself sitting next to Darryl, tail wagging softly, licking at his ankle; deafening feelings of shock settling over them. After a moment of silence, a burst of deep laughter erupted from Darryl; he let himself fall flat against his floor, staring up at his ceiling. 

"Oh my god, I thought I was getting robbed," Darryl laughed, his stomach beginning to hurt with every exuberant laugh falling warmly from his lips. Zak began to laugh, too, standing over Darryl with an expression of complete amusement. 

"What are you even doing awake?" Darryl stopped laughing to ask, a delightful smile tugging at his lips. Zak wrinkled his nose for a moment, grabbing his phone from his pocket. He clicked it on, crouching down, holding it near Darryl's face.

"It's 2:43AM here, but it's 11:43PM in California," Zak scoffed softly. "I tried to sleep, but my body wouldn't let me. So I thought it would be cool to sit in the living room, you know, just making myself at home. Didn't really consider that you'd be up either."

Darryl nodded in quick acknowledgment, pushing himself up. "I was just about to go for a walk," Darryl explained, using a nearby wall to pull himself up, shocks of pain shooting through his already questionable leg. He offered his hand to Zak, who was still crouching on the ground and pulled him up. "I had a weird dream I wanted to -- I don't know, walk off?"

Zak mumbled a word of acknowledgment as Darryl dusted himself off with his hands. "You wanna talk about it? Can I walk with you?"

"No," Darryl spoke plainly, locking eyes with Zak, causing him to cock his head to the side in confusion. "I mean, I'd rather go alone," Darryl concluded, taking a quick step towards the back door, offering a lopsided smile in the hope Zak would not ask any more questions.

"Okay, fine. Just be safe, yeah? Don't stress your leg out too much," Zak concluded, gesturing to his limp, soft concern tugging at his face, falling back on the couch. 

Darryl hummed out a soft noise of acknowledgment, stepping out of the house and shutting the door behind him. He briefly wondered how Zak was able to do that; the last person he would've liked to see at that moment was somehow able to leave him smiling, soft, kind feelings of affection wrapping around his heart.

He hated feeling on the cusp of every breakthrough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I think I'm going to start posting more consistently, most likely once a week. I have poor willpower in the sense that the moment I finish writing, I want to post the chapter immediately. Might start posting the chapters on Fridays.
> 
> Thank you again for reading!


	5. Ultimately, it's Ritualistic

**Warnings: Internalized homophobia, Derealization, Moderate Mania.**

**\---**

Darryl’s knees dug into the soft padding of the knee rest as his hands remained clasped over his chest, eyes shut, soft words dancing upon his lips.

The peaceful environment was characterized by a calm silence, only that of a mostly-vacant church. Smooth candles flickered in the darker places of the place of worship, and a piano was left untouched and unsung.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” Darryl whispered, letting the words fall from his lips, letting his head fall forward.

Darryl had not remembered why he was here, of all places, prayer hot on his lips. There was no sign of protest, though; perhaps he was always destined to end back up here, on his knees, speaking beyond his mortal form.

“Give us this day our daily bread,” Darryl’s voice cracked around the silent church atmosphere. His eyes fluttered open for a moment to look down at his knees, fingers shifting anxiously in his own hands.

He was nervous, he realized; for what, though, he had no idea. 

“..and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” Darryl’s voice faded to that of just a whisper; his eyes shut as he focused on directing his thoughts to the prayer before him.

The words blazed in this throat, falling from his lips certainly; indeed, regardless of how many months he did not pray, those words seemed forever ingrained in his mind.

“...and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” he continued, lifting his head, letting his eyes open. The church was empty as the night and as heavy as day; the stale air tasted shockingly familiar on his tongue as his head turned to observe the dark-wooded place of worship before him. As his head moved to glance behind him, dark eyes caught his attention; Zak was stood there, arms folded over his chest, leaned against the dark marble pillar. 

A smooth, gentle smile rested on his face, eyes fixated on his.

“...Amen,” Darryl finished, hands clamped over the church pew, head turned awkwardly to ghost over Zak’s features. He seemed unphased to see him there, occupying this place with him, watching him with such passionate certainty. 

It was surreal, but had anything felt real in the past few months?

Darryl turned forward, letting his eyes shut, letting his mind whir to life with rich, tempestuous dialogue. Words of forgiveness, words of advice, terms of anything. He asked such vague questions of why, with little answer; Darryl’s mind felt like a cascading hole of endless questions and endless unanswered solutions; he had almost missed the soft steps echoing out on the hard wooden floor. 

The soft pitter-patter of angelic steps felt like that of God himself; careful, apprehensive steps only became more regular until they faltered out into nothing.

The quiet was reminiscent of the horrifyingly sweet silence only heard after an explosion; it caught Darryl off-guard.

After a moment of distracted silence, feather-light hands dropped onto Darryl’s shoulders from behind, sliding off of them onto his chest before turning to rise back up. Crawling over his chest, they dragged along silently along his neck, planting firm, angelic fingers splayed against either side of his jawline. They tugged along the underside of his jaw, adjusting his eye line upwards, watching the church lights beat against Darryl’s eyelids.

Darryl felt-- as ease, he thought-- head on either side of this being’s grasp; his hands darted upwards to cover this being’s hands, letting a soft, kind breath escape his lips. 

The hands were warm and much more significant than any human. He briefly considered opening his eyes and gazing upon this entity. 

The being drew closer, Darryl knew by no means of logic, and the soft breath against his face was strikingly cold; he fought the urge to pull away from the feeling. A second pair of hands seemed to drop on Darryl’s shoulders, one lifting from its position to trace a smooth path between its origin and his forehead; it fell flat against his forehead, pushing his hair back.

The second hand found itself firmly on his shoulder, pressing down slightly as if to test Darryl’s stability against the padded knee rest. Darryl was seemingly unphased by the unaccounted-for hands; smiling against the touch, Darryl let his eyes fall open.

The bright light hit him first; the harsh light of the church made Darryl wince, but the dark eyes staring back at his own left him at ease.

Zak’s face was curled into a smile; his brown eyes gleaming in his own. It took Darryl a moment to notice he was different; the second pair of eyes just below his brown seemed glassy and clouded. The large, shockingly wide pair of light blue wings surrounding either side of him appeared in place with the second pair of wings above them, partially covering his face; Darryl reckoned that there was a third pair below beyond his eyesight.

Darryl’s hair was much longer than he remembered, falling on either side of his head, landing on the floor next to him, glowing a soft, blue hue. It was tugged against Zak’s exaggeratedly long ears, messy and unkempt, half falling into a messy braid past his waist and just inches from the wooden floor below them.

The two pairs of arms held firm against Darryl sprouted out of either side of Zak’s torso, and sat firm and steady. As large platinum rings surrounded both of them, the church light gleamed carefully along the edges of each.

He looked like he was burning, almost in the way a log glows after burning for a while; the soft blue hue dragged against every surface, falling onto either of their faces, flooding the church with muted light.

_I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple. Above it stood the seraphim: each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly. (Isaiah 6:1–3)_

“Be not afraid,” Zak’s voice rose before him, face frozen as stoic but not unkind. Darryl moved his hand from Zak’s to reach upwards, confident, not a single tremble this evening. Touching Zak’s face with a feather-light touch, he drew soft circles in his skin.

“I’m not, dear seraph.”

The scene fell away as Darryl’s eyes drew to an agonizingly slow open; his heart did not pound this morning, nor did he feel the heavy emotions of devastation. 

The calm before him was somewhat more unnerving than the sour nightmares dancing alongside his sleep schedule; throwing the blanket off of his legs, Darryl rose to his feet. 

Things felt different, somehow; Darryl wondered what it could be. He rolled over specific thoughts of cause, recounting the days before him, before tossing the inquiry aside.

Darryl could not pinpoint it, but he did little to question it as his hands threw open his closet and grabbed at the clothes residing in it. Moments later, his feet had carried him to the bathroom, flipping on his shower, ready to begin his day.

No uncomfortably suggestive scenarios played this bright morning; for once, Darryl left a smile grace his face as he simply allowed himself to enjoy the warm water falling over his skin. He let the soft, comfortable scents of his body soap fill his senses, fill his mind with feelings of home.

Darryl let the familiar, bitter taste of toothpaste and mouthwash fill his mouth as he scrubbed against weeks of depression; the feeling of clean teeth against his tongue found itself being reminded over and over again.

The blade against his face filled the bathroom with predictable noises of metal against rough skin; as his hands replaced previous, unkempt facial hair with a soothing lotion, he found himself just running his fingers against his jawline. 

The feeling of his long, lanky fingers combing through his wet, clean hair was satisfying; Darryl found himself just pushing it back, combing through it pliantly, breathing slow and calm.

The feeling of clean clothes against his clean skin felt absolutely foreign but absolutely welcomed; Darryl found himself back in his room, turning over the phone in his hands, clicking it on.

_7:12AM_

Grabbing at the headphones on his nightstand, he impatiently plugged them into his phone as he swiped at the screen, clicking into his music app before pressing shuffle.

Gentle tunes poured into his ear as he dropped his phone into his pocket. Trotting off towards the kitchen, Darryl began to whistle along to the music, luring Rat over to sit inquisitively at his feet.

“You hungry, pretty girl?” He hummed, spinning on his heels, throwing open the cabinet above him. Pulling out a tin of dog food, Rat’s tail began to wag as he popped it open; Darryl chucked as he reached over and opened a drawer, grabbing a fork. He mixed the contents of the can for a moment before turning it over onto a plate.

Hands wrapping around the plate, Darryl took a few steps to place the container down; Rat excited began to start on the dish, causing Darryl to laugh. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he swiped up and snapped a photo of her.

Throwing open Twitter, Darryl typed out a message, attaching the photo of Rat.

_@BadBoyHalo  
Someone’s hungry this morning o-o_

Pressing send on the Tweet, he clicked off the phone before dropping it back into his pocket. Throwing open his fridge, Darryl’s eyes scanned over the contents before he found himself pulling out milk, eggs, and a messy bag of flour. Spinning on his heels, Darryl’s fingers worked on flipping open his coffee maker, dropping coffee grounds into the cup, and filling the machine with water.

As he clicked the machine on, it whirred to life with a soft hum; Darryl pulled open the bag of flour with one hand as he pulled a stainless steel bowl from his cabinet. Turning to reach over the cabinet, he grabbed the neat stack of measuring cups hanging against the wall hook.

By muscle memory, he began to recite the recipe with his hands, words of the music in his ears and hot on his lips as he mouthed along. Measuring cups scooped at the flour, leaving a white trail of mess in their wake; Darryl tapped the eggs against the side of the bowl, dropping them in, tossing the shells into the trash.

Before long, he added the milk, a tad of butter, and a dash of salt; after a few moments of rummaging through his cabinet, he pulled out the vanilla extract, dropping a few drops into the mixture before him.

With a soft whistle on his lips, hands around the bowl, and whisk, his roommate emerged from his room. Despite neither of them being close, they were friendly and courteous of each other; he glanced at Darryl with a surprised expression on his face.

As he passed through the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of coffee, nodding at Darryl in thanks before heading towards the door, obviously on his way to work.

“It’s good to see you like this again,” he said, pulling Darryl’s attention away from his batter. Darryl cocked his head to the side for a moment, rolling over the phrase in his mind before the roommate left, shutting the door behind him.

_Like this again?_

He did not dwell on it as he poured the batter out on the hot pan on his stove, devolving into a continuous motion of pouring, flipping, then collecting. His stack of pancakes grew until the bowl ran dry of batter.

Shutting off his stove, Darryl pulled down a mug from his cabinet, filling it with coffee. He held firm on the cup as he dragged himself out the front door of his house, settling down on the porch, letting his legs hang over it. 

He pulled his phone from his pocket, swiped it open, and did something that was long overdue. 

“Hi Dream,” Darryl started, mild nervousness bubbling up in his voice. “Been a while.”

“Hi Bad,” Dream’s voice rang out in his ear, soft and careful. “Everything alright?” He quested quietly; Darryl smiled at the concern, letting his gaze fall to the downy mildew on the grass. 

Darryl quietly recounted the last conversation they had, guilt filling his senses once more; feeling how those words had slipped out his mouth too quickly for his liking, Darryl also recounted the kind words of his dutiful friend.

How kind Dream had been to him while Darryl’s world was crashing around him; the calm patience in his voice was laced with warmth.

_If you ever need to talk to someone, you know I’m here, right... It's not like you to act like this._

Then, how Darryl had snarkily replied; answered too quickly, and hardly at all.

_Then how am I supposed to act, Dream? What do you want me to do? What do I need to tell you to believe that I’m fine? Please tell me how I’m supposed to act. I’d really like to know myself._

“Yeah,” Darryl answered. “I actually wanted to call to say I’m sorry,” he swallowed, his free hand darting up to hold his shoulder. “I uh, I shouldn’t have lashed out like that.” 

A soft chuckle could be heard on the other line. “Oh good, I was worried I wouldn’t have a fourth hunter for the Manhunt videos,” Dream said, giving an exaggerated sigh, causing Darryl to gasp in playful shock. “Kidding! Kidding!” Dream barked out.

There was a beat of silence, but it was comfortable.

“You feeling better then?” Dream asked, warmth entangling his words. “I really was worried about you.” 

Darryl felt hot embarrassment burning at his neck at his concern. “A little, yeah. Zak’s here,” Darryl added, bobbing his head at the point. Dream hummed into the phone.

“Yeah, he told us,” Dream laughed. “He told us about how you were like, going for a walk or something and he was just like there on the couch,” Dream’s words dissolved into soft laughter. “Apparently you had like forgotten he was there or something and he accidentally scared the living hell out of you.”

“Actually, it was like two in the morning,” Darryl recounted, chuckling. “And the lights were off, so when he spoke I thought there was a robber in my house for some reason,” Darryl smiled softly before lifting his mug to his lips to sip from it. “It’s not my fault that weirdo was just sitting in the living room with all the lights off!”

There was soft laughter shared between the two for a moment before it faded out into the much-needed discussion.

“You were right though,” Darryl added, placing his mug on the porch foundation with a soft clank. “This is all kinda because of him.” Dream hummed out a questioning reply, egging Darryl on.

“About me acting weird,” Darryl added. “You were right. It’s about Zak.” 

The silence indicated that Dream was rolling over what Darryl had just told him in his mind. Darryl could hear him draw in a long breath before speaking again.

A noise of acknowledgment came over the line. “You like him, right?” Dream asked outright, making Darryl jump out of his skin. He drew in a sharp breath, processing how to answer. 

After a few beats of silence, Darryl’s voice rose into the line. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve known you since I was twelve, Bad,” Dream spoke slowly, warmth encroaching into his voice. “I’d be more concerned if I didn’t know.”

Darryl watched as the sun peeked over the trees, leaving the wet foliage to sparkle in the morning glow.

“Can I talk about it…?” Darryl asked, slightly apprehensive, guilt tugging at his skin for asking after how he’d treated Dream.

“Of course, Darryl. You always are,” Dream’s kind voice rang out. Darryl’s faced contorted into a soft smile. He was grateful for Dream; he silently noted to thank him when the context was more at ease.

Darryl chuckled warmly, turning over the thoughts in his head. “The whole issue with it is less about _him_ and more about God,” Darryl admitted carefully. “I know you aren’t really religious but I-- I don’t know. In a way, I can’t love Zak without feeling guilty.”

Darryl drew in a breath as he considered his words, watching birds scavenge his yard for anything and everything edible.

“It doesn’t bother me when other people are LGBT-- quite the opposite actually,” Darryl added with a chuckle, scratching his neck. “It’s just like, when it comes to myself, it feels… I don’t even know. Like I’m intentionally going against everything I’ve been told.”

Dream listened to his soft rambling, mumbling soft noises of acknowledgment. “Have you told anyone about this?” Dream asked softly. Darryl chucked for a moment, taking a sip of coffee.

“No,” he spoke. “Not at all. You’re the first,” Darryl added, a smile on his lips. “There’s not many people I can tell. Plus, if I start telling people, it’s going to feel more real.”

“It’s cause it is, Bad,” Dream laughed into the line, letting playfully scoff. “You know what you should try? Those church confession thingies.”

“A confessional?” Darryl asked, running fingers through his hair, eyebrow cocked. Dream hummed certainly.

“Yeah! Yeah! That thing,” Dream’s voice arose. “They’re confidential, right? Can’t you like, ask the priest about it-- If that’s how that works? Or like confess to it and see what he says?”

Darryl hummed at the idea, giving a few beats of silence to roll the concept through his mind. “That’s actually not that bad of an idea.”

“It’s like God therapy,” Dream replied, causing Darryl to groan; an exasperated wheeze came through the phone. It took a few moments of loud laughter before Darryl was able to get any words in.

“Do NOT call a confessional God therapy,” Darryl laughed into the line, words faltering. “It’s a _confessional_.”

“Okay, God therapy, got it, great,” Dream spoke into the line, humor dancing with his words. “But yeah, yo--”

Darryl pulled the phone away from his ear as the door behind him swung open, displaying a tired and disheveled-looking Zak. Pulling the phone back to his ear, he interrupted Dream. “Hey I gotta go.”

As he clicked off the phone, Zak came to join him. “Good morning, am I interrupting something?” Zak hummed out tiredly, causing a soft smile to tug at Darryl’s lips and to shake his head back and forth. As Zak found himself a spot to sit, Darryl quickly typed out a message to Dream.

_Sorry, Zak walked out and i panicked_

Hitting send, he flipped his phone over, setting it down on the porch foundation. “Good morning,” Darryl replied, hands grabbing at his coffee as he took a sip.

“I guess we’re both up early today,” Darryl hummed out, warmth growing against his chest as he watched Zak before him. Zak smiled, nodding slightly. 

“I got a call from someone and it woke me up-- also, am I allowed to eat those pancakes in the kitchen?” Zak asked, pointing at the door behind him, eyebrow cocked. Chuckling, Darryl nodded.

“‘Course,” Darryl said, voice warm. “There’s coffee in there too.” 

“I would’ve visited sooner if I knew this is how I’d be woken up,” Zak hummed out, leaning against the porch pole. There were a few moments of soft silence; sounds of birds chirping out, faint sounds of cicadas in the wind.

“What are we doing today?” Zak asked after a bit, eyes watching the soft blades of grass flicking in the wind. “I’ve been here like a week and we haven’t actually told anyone I’m here.” 

Darryl rolled his phone over in his hands, reading Dream’s reply. 

_lol no worries, call me back if you need, ok?_

Darryl typed back a quick _tysm._

“I actually was thinking about going to church today,” Darryl spoke cautiously as he looked up, watching how Zak’s eyes darted from the grass to meet his own, searching his eyes for any misplaced emotions. “Not because of… You know,” Darryl concluded, alluding to the phone call between the pair.

“Just want to go do confession and pray, I think,” Darryl added. “We can stream when I get back, or later tonight actually,” Darryl thought, rolling the ideas through his mind.

“Can I come with you?” Zak’s voice piped up after a moment. “I know I’m not really religious or anything so I’ll stay out of the way--”

“Yeah, sure,” Darryl answered. “You can come if you want,” he spoke, turning and offering a soft smile to Zak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Also, just wanted to say thank you to everyone who's been commenting and leaving Kudos. This work has 140 Kudos and over 20 comments, so I just wanted to list some names who gave great feedback or keep commenting on this work:  
> Not_Deer_DVD - Thank you, your excitement and comments always makes me thrilled to write more! :)  
> x_methane_madness_x - You gave me a really great breakdown on the first chapter, and I'm positive I would have not continued this work without that!  
> sleepysoap - I've seen your name more than once dropping small comments, so thank you so much for the continued support!  
> a_workinprogress - You gave me some really nice feedback on my writing style, and I appreciate that immensely! In many ways, I'm still trying to figure it out, but your comment made me feel really great about knowing I'm not moving in the complete wrong direction. :)
> 
> Thank you to all who've commented, liked, Kudos'd, bookmarked, and subscribed. :)


	6. Why do I Always End up Back Here?

**Warnings: depictions of childhood trauma/abuse, religious trauma.**

**___**

The frigid, wooden chair beneath Darryl had an interesting way of reminding him of his more bashful time as a kid, confessing to the likes of yelling as his sister or stealing his brother’s things. 

This time, instead of childish embarrassment, hot apprehension crawled up his skin; it nipped him where the cold chair bit into his skin, it spawned from his eye line as he looked forward at the dark, opaque screen in front of him.

Tremors along his long fingers made it hard to rest them anywhere; he folded them over his chest and leaned forward, trapping them against his body.

“Whenever you’re ready,” a voice erupted from the other side of the screen; it was warm but distant. Darryl swallowed hard, snapping his eyes shut, letting his head fall forward for only a moment.

“Bless me, Father, I have sinned,” Darryl began, throat threatening to close with each enveloping word, loosely making the motion of the holy cross. “These are my sins.”

“I’m gay, Father. I just... I like men--,” he finally choked out, tremor dancing violently against his legs, anxiously awaiting judgment. 

A memory overcame Darryl at that moment. A memory of him in his living room, wrestling his brother, mother on the couch, watching them with disinterest. 

“Stop, you two,” she instructed, swatting her hand in dismissal. Darryl looked up at his mother, smiling bashfully, flashing a toothy grin. Caught off guard, Darryl’s brother slammed himself onto Darryl, sending shooting pain throughout his body as he slammed into the ground, wrist snapping under the sudden weight.

“Fuck!” Darryl screamed, grabbing his wrist, the pain becoming white-hot as he held in his other hand; his brother scrambled away as their mother rose to her feet, snatching up Darryl’s arm.

“You will not speak like that in my house,” she had said, pulling the crying Darryl against the floor, still screaming against the pain from his wrist. In her anger, she loosened the grip on Darryl’s arm, snatching up his wrist in her hand, pulling him along.

The pain was unbearable; Darryl felt like he was on the brink of passing out as she forced him on his knees in the bathroom. The edges of Darryl’s vision were flashing soft black, threatening to succumb to the pain, before a sour taste entered his mouth.

His mother was washing his mouth out with soap.

The salty tears made their way onto his mouth, mixing with the soap and leaving the sour taste of embarrassment hot on his tongue. 

His mother made him attend confession that day, wrist still limply held between his fingers, before another parent saw his then purpling wrist, insisting that his mother take him to the hospital.

It turned out that his wrist had broken that day; that day also left the burning, uncomfortable feelings of discomfort whenever he cursed, despite being twice the age he once was.

The memory faded, and Darryl found his eyesight transfixed on the wooden floor below him, just like he had as a kid.

There was a stale moment of silence before the voice from the other side spoke. “Is that all, son?” The voice was surprisingly warm and much softer than before. Neglecting to answer, the priest’s words began to fill the wooden box again.

“Son, have you heard of Deuteronomy 22:28–29? Or Deuteronomy 22:11?” The priest asked. Darryl pondered for a moment, recalling his years of catechism in his youth.

“Yes, I believe I do,” Darryl spoke apprehensively, recollecting the verses from his years of attending catechism. “Deuteronomy 22:28–29 is about the obligation of the offender to marry a virgin if she was forced, 22:11 is about the sin of mixed fabrics.”

“Do either of those principles seem fair?” The priest asked next, letting his words roll through Darryl for a moment. “It’s not a trick question.” 

“Then no, they don’t seem reasonable,” Darryl answered honestly, trying to connect these verses to his situation. There was another moment of heavy silence; Darryl reveled in it as the priest spoke once more.

“The bible is outdated; principles that once applied no longer are reasonable.” The priest’s words were soft and firm. “Most reasonable Catholics will agree with that; it’s up to the catholic in question to decide what principles they see fit to follow.”

Darryl found him letting out a breath he had not realized was holding. “Why is it such a point of contention, then?”

Another memory found itself floating to the surface; Darryl shut his eyes to relive the scene before him.

“Leviticus 18:22, Leviticus 20:13,” Darryl’s mother had repeated, pointing at the passages in the bible before him as he sat at the kitchen table, tears streaming down his face. 

As the teenager he was, Darryl said that he disagreed with her thoughtless comment on their homosexual neighbors; the situation spiraled unexpectedly for Darryl.

She shoved the bible from the table into Darryl’s chest; he fumbled to catch it as her voice rose again. “Spoiled brat,” she spat. “Do whatever you want, I don’t care.” 

As Darryl left the table that day, he found himself on the edge of his bed, twirling his shirt between his fingers, throat dry; guilt prickled at his chest as he recounted fonder memories of his mother, guilty for even speaking against her.

He now knew that as manipulation; the scene remains tender and painful to this day, even as it faded from around him.

“Some Catholics find faith in tighter interpretations of the holy text, son,” the priest answered kindly. “Some Catholics find faith in looser interpretations; many fail to acknowledge that two Catholics with different interpretations are still the same under God.”

“The same under God?” Darryl repeated softly, rolling the idea off of his lips. “Then-- Does that mean I won’t go to hell?” 

“Hell is reserved for bad people; those who fail judgement,” the priest answered. “Homosexuality is not an automatic death sentence, but even then I can’t answer that. Only God knows.” 

Darryl audibly chuckled for a moment, driving his leg harder into the wooden chair. “I won’t be going to hell?” He asked again, a soft smile against his face, face contorted to match the swimming feeling of dread as he awaited his reply.

“No, son. Not if you remain as diligent and faithful as you are now.” 

Darryl hadn’t recognized the salty tears falling from his face until it left soft, dark splotches on the knees of his jeans, wetting the top of his mask. The soft, audible sob was that of relief; the priest left no comment on it.

Darryl recounted another memory, similar to now, tears streaming down his face as he held onto his mother’s hand; she lifted a spare hand to wipe the tears from his face.

She embraced him, placing small kisses on his forehead, whispering words of kindness.

He had lost the baseball league, after months of preparation, by only a few points. The stinging loss to the young teenage Darryl was blown out of proportion in only the way a teenager could, but it didn’t make his pain any less real.

Darryl held on to that memory of her; little memories of her carried such calming weight. He chose to fixate on that one, for many real years, telling himself he did not want to live in vain memory of his mother.

It served to invalidate any lingering negative emotions of his mother in a strange turn of events than if he would’ve accepted them all on the baseline.

“I’ve-- I have other sins, if you are willing to listen,” Darryl added after a moment, snapping out the memory. After a noise of acknowledgment, he collected his thoughts, wiping his tears away.

“I’ve not been so kind to myself,” Darryl added. “And to my friends. I got into a fight with-- with a friend, and-- and they were just worried for me. I apologized to them but--”

Darryl took a moment to breathe. “--I’ve just been unkind, and I’m trying my best to be better.” 

“Son, pray the Act of Contrition,” the priest’s voice arose. Darryl found a hand in his hair, untucked from his arms, moving more calmly than before. 

“Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended You,” Darryl began on impulse, letting muscle memory chase the words from his lips. “…and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell.”

“...but most of all because they offend You, my God, Who are all good and deserving of all my love,” Darryl carefully recollected himself as a child sitting on the edge of his bed, reading a piece of paper over and over, hoping to have it memorized for his first confession.

It turned out that he had made himself so nervous as a kid he couldn’t sleep that night; in addition, he didn’t even remember the Act of Contrition. To his mother’s dismay, he had brought in a messy piece of crumpled paper into the confessional, the words scribbled in his childlike handwriting. He smiled into the memory.

“I firmly resolve, with the help of Your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen,” Darryl was more grounded than he remembered, eyes falling open again to find that the wooden chair did not bite into his skin as it did once before. 

“I offer you the act of penance,” the priest spoke. “Ten Hail Mary recitations.” 

“God, the Father of mercies,” the priest began. Darryl began to mouth the words alongside him, recollecting the near-monthly visits here as a kid.

“...through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to Himself, and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins…” the priest droned on; Darryl listened with glazed over emotions, a soft smile on his lips.

“...through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen,” Darryl followed, using his hand to perform the sign of the cross. “...and thank you.” 

Darryl hadn’t moved for a moment as he wiped his tears away, straightening out his clothing and hair.

The walk back to his pew was that of complete disinterest; his mind was too busy swarming with the priest’s words. 

As Darryl slid back into his seat, he pulled down the knee rest and supported himself on it. Clasping his hands together, silent prayers danced across his lips, eyes tightly shut. 

After a few silent moments of prayer, Darryl found himself looking up after a while, turning his head over his shoulder, eyes washing over the many pews, his eyes met with Zak’s. 

His eyes were kind as he leaned against that pillar, a small smile dancing upon his face, arms folded over his chest.

Darryl felt like he had been here before, somewhere, somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I was so worried about writing this scene because it can vary from where you are and who you talk to; some religious figures may still be against LGBTQ+, others entirely for it, and some in a grey area. 
> 
> Since I’m not religious, I actually spoke to a few Catholic individuals along with a student completing a Master’s in Divinity (the most popular degree for priests and other ministry careers.) As I expected, I got mixed results, but nearly everyone I spoke to concluded that LGBTQ+ youth is on the rise and that the bible is outdated in many different aspects.
> 
> I also learned that’s also the reason many passages in the old testament are ignored/looked over. I took that idea and ran with it a bit; I also added a tad more background to Darryl. I also wanted to include more of the acceptance religion can oftentimes dish out; even as non-religious person, I can see how that fact is often overlooked.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it! See you next Friday for Chapter 7; it’s definitely one of my favorite chapters I’ve written. I hope you come back to read it!


	7. Mockingly Close

**Warnings: Alcohol consumption.**

\---

Darryl's hands were working quickly on the camera situated just above the monitors of Zak's workstation. He listened to the ambient noise of the house as he focused on getting the camera connected to the computer. To Darryl's surprise, the camera was small with a simple USB connection; Darryl briefly wondered how Zak expected to get any sort of good quality with something so small.

"I got the goods," Zak's voice entered the room before he did. Soft clanking could be heard as Darryl turned his head to meet Zak's.

"That seems like a tad too much," Darryl commented, arm still slung over the monitor, flimsy USB cable between his fingers, eyes dancing carefully between the bottles of alcohol and Zak. 

"I mean, I have no idea what is considered too much," Zak commented, amusement entwining his voice as he placed the bottles carefully on the floor against the wall. "Plus, if you wanna join in there's extra."

"I already told you I won't be drinking," Darryl hummed as he was finally able to clip the camera into a good position. He let the cable drop behind the desk as he sunk to his knees to connect it into the back of Zak's computer. 

Halfway under the desk, Darryl's fingers worked at patting around for the USB cable. 

"Lame," Zak hummed, moving towards Darryl. He let his hands drop on Darryl's shoulders as his back faced him, causing Darryl to jump. "We could get your other roommate to make sure we don't do anything crazy."

Darryl hummed a sarcastic noise in response as he plugged in the USB cord. _Yeah, you fool, let me just get drunk and tell you everything I feel about you. No thanks._

"Hmm. Yeah. Let's get the guy who knows nothing about streaming take care of us and our streams. Very smart," Darryl hummed, amusement entwining his voice as Zak's hands fell off his shoulders as he pushed himself back. He pulled himself up using Zak's offered hand.

"Okay, maybe you're right," Zak chuckled, scratching his head uncertainly. "Did you get the camera to work?" 

"I'm actually checking now," Darryl hummed, fingers flying across the keyboard as he opened the settings. He plopped himself into a chair in front of the computer. "Have you actually ever used this camera? The computer like -- doesn't recognize it." 

"Well," Zak's voice faltered. "No. I bought it months ago but I couldn't ever get it to work. I was using the built in camera for streaming." 

Darryl couldn't stop a laugh from falling from his lips. "You idiot, all you needed to do was install the driver," Darryl knocked his hand against the desk in amusement. "Do you still have the package it came in? There would've been a small disc with it." 

"Oh that? I thought it was a tutorial so I threw it away with the packaging," Zak hummed, a flustered smile against his face. "Oops…?" 

"How is it that your career is based on technology and you still know nothing about it?" Darryl joked, throwing a playful glance at Zak. "Here, come sit," Darryl patted the chair next to him as he worked on the computer. "I'll show you how to fix it." 

As Zak settled against the chair, Darryl pointed at the computer settings. "See how it says connected, but when I open the camera settings it still only recognizes the integrated camera? The integrated camera is the built in one." 

Zak hummed in acknowledgment, turning to look at Darryl for a moment, eyes lingering against his computer monitor-illuminated features.

"It's likely you just don't have the driver for the camera. Drivers get installed for everything, your wireless equipment, most frequently. Most hardware and operating systems auto-download the drivers, but it seems like you got unlucky here. Since we don't have the disc, we'll just download it directly from the website," Darryl explained, fingers flying against the keyboard as he selected _About >Properties_ on the settings.

"See this?" Darryl asked, moving his fingers from the keyboard to point at a small line of text called “See how it says _64-bit operating system_? Basically, that just means when we download the driver, it's gonna have to say 64x; not 32x, or 16x, or 8x, though I don't think we can even get access to 16x or 8x operating types anymore without the help of a VM."

Zak watched in interest, despite how the meaning of specific phrases or words would slip right past him. Zak was entranced by how Darryl was explaining things to him; it was nice to see him enthusiastic about something. "What's the difference between those numbers? What's a VM?"

"It just means how much data can be communicated at once. In most cases, the bigger the number, the better." Darryl hummed as he began to search up the website of the camera's brand. “VM means _Virtual machine_. Basically, it allows someone to be able to open up a computer within a computer."

Zak hummed, still not entirely understanding it all but still interested nevertheless. "Why are you looking up the camera?" 

"I'm pulling the website up for the camera. Majority of driver-based cameras allow you to install the driver online -- just in case you don't have a disc reader, or you accidentally throw the disc away." 

Zak gave an amused chuckle. "And all you're going to do is download it and the camera will work?" 

Darryl nodded, clicking into the driver's tab for the camera's model type. "See? There's different types. We want the 64x, not 32x," Darryl pointed, turning for a moment to catch Zak's eyes. "There you go, it's downloading."

Darryl watched the small spinning circle as the driver downloaded, a small smile against his lips.

"How'd you get so good at this stuff?" Zak found himself asking. "I mean, 64 bit? 30 bit? Virtual machine? That stuff is all complicated." 

"I studied computer science, remember?" Darryl hummed as his eyes remained fixated on the screen. He clicked through the wizard installer until a success message appeared on the screen. "Also," Darryl shot a playful look at Zak. "Most of this is common sense." 

"Hey!" Zak scoffed, hitting Darryl's arm, chuckling. "It's definitely not common sense," Zak folded his arms over his chest before sinking against the chair. Darryl laughed, not even turning to look at him. 

"You're younger than I am. If anything, you should be better than me at this stuff, considering you grew up around all this tech," Darryl commented off-handedly, turning on the camera and playing with some settings until the screen showed both of them. 

Darryl's eyes landed on Zak's image on the screen, and it became painfully aware to him how close they had been sitting. 

"Well, there you go!" Darryl motioned towards the screen, flying up from his chair and taking a few steps back. "I recommend you test it in OBS before you go live." 

"We're actually supposed to go live in 30 minutes," Zak spoke, spinning the chair to face Darryl, holding his phone. "You'll still be on my stream, right?"

"Someone's gonna have to take care of drunk Skeppy, right?" Darryl exhaled playfully, scratching his neck off-handedly. "Of course I'll be there. I'm going to shower first, though." 

Zak gave a nod as Darryl backed out of the room, giving a lopsided smile before turning towards his room. As he stepped in, his hand flew against his chest as he softly chuckled to himself. Zak was so _close_ to him, and he was so wrapped up in a stupid driver that he hadn't even realized.

The lingering scent Zak often adorned followed him, and he could've sworn that it was some sort of witchcraft.

Laughing at himself for a moment, he pulled a hoodie and pair of sweats from his closet, letting the excitement settle over him while anxiety prickled against his fingertips. The world would soon know the pair were living together, despite how temporary it would be; Twitter will be running wild for _days._

The walk to the bathroom was uneventful, as was the shower itself. Besides Darryl's endless what-ifs, the warm water provided a little comfort.

Standing in front of the mirror, the hoodie sat on his shoulders nicely; Darryl raked his hands through his wet hair in an attempt to make it look presentable. 

Satisfied with his work, Darryl brushed his teeth, rolling the hoodie's sleeves up to his arms. He eventually conceded, but before doing so, he reached under his sink and grabbed the cologne he often wore.

Spraying it on, he froze between the second spritz. _You idiot, it's a live stream._

Laughing to himself, Darryl placed the bottle back down on the counter, letting his face fall into his hands. Perhaps he was a tad more nervous about this than he initially imagined. He finally let them fall before flashing an embarrassed grin to himself, pushing past the bathroom door.

As Darryl stood in the doorway of Zak's room, he watched as Zak toyed around with the interface on OBS; various bottles of alcohol were pushed to the back of the desk next to a small shot glass, a plate of different fruits, and a small salt shaker. 

"All ready then?" Darryl asked, watching Zak spin in his chair before flashing a smile and patting the chair next to him. Darryl took a seat, rolling the chair out of the view of the camera. "Motion to me when you're ready for me to come in." 

After a nod, a few odd moments of silent clicking, and a fading _stream starting soon_ screen, Zak's whole persona changed.

The change wasn't unexpected, as both tended to exemplify their camera personas. However, it still was mesmerizing to see the drastic change.

"What's up guys!" Zak asked, waving at the camera enthusiastically. "I know, I know, Skeppy streaming? Absolutely unheard of," Zak hollered. "You should all be thankful that I'm even streaming," he joked momentarily, reading the chat.

"Look at my new stream set up," Zak yelled, motioning out towards the room. "Guess where I am!" Zak said, a massive grin against his face before he reached out and grabbed the arm of Darryl's chair, pulling him into the view of the camera. 

_And then, the whole world knew._

"BadBoyHalo's house!" Zak yelled, smiling wide, causing Darryl to laugh. Both men watched as the chat sped by, completely unreadable. "He finally agreed to meet up with me!"

"He actually broke into my house guys," Darryl joked, shaking his head momentarily. "This bad muffin forced me to do this," Darryl slung his arm over his head, falling back into his chair with a thump.

"DID NOT!" Zak yelled, playfully hitting Darryl's chair. "BadBoyHalo is a filthy fucking liar," Zak spat, a smile dancing on his lips. "He--" 

"LANGUAGE, Skeppy!" Darryl yelled, covering his ears with his hands. "Don't say that!" He groaned, shutting his eyes. 

Zak burst into a fit of laughter as he fell against his chair, dragging his hands down his face.

"You can't language me on my own stream," Zak laughed, pushing Darryl slightly. 

"You're in MY house, Skeppy," Darryl spat back, eyes wide and laughing before shaking his head. Zak pretended to think for a moment before nodding. 

"I guess that is true," Zak hummed, smiling slightly before abruptly sitting up. "Guys. I have a very exciting stream planned for today." 

Zak reached beyond the camera's view and pulled out a bottle of alcohol. "As we all know, I'm 21 now," he turned the bottle to read it. "...Which means I can drink now."

"I don't agree with this," Darryl chimed in, rolling his eyes. "Remember guys, don't drink unless you're the legal drinking age, are drinking responsibly, and make sure you don't drink and drive--"

"Bad, can you open this for me?" Zak interrupted, thrusting the bottle into his hands, causing Darryl to raise an eyebrow. 

"You want to start with whisky? Really? Maybe you should go with a lower proof--" Darryl began, eyes reading the label of the bottle. 

"Nah, come on Bad," Zak teased, grabbing a shot glass from the desk. "Come on, pour, pour," he ushered, causing Darryl to sigh.

"Do you have water? You'll need to drink water between each shot or else you'll get a terrible hangover--" 

"It'll be fine!" Zak said, dragging out the last word. "Just pour me one," he said again, thrusting the glass towards Darryl. 

Darryl rolled his eyes as he poured Zak a glass. "Now Skeppy, it's going to burn, so make sure--"

Before Darryl could finish his sentence, Zak had turned over the glass, and it was already down his throat. Expectantly, he began to sputter, coughing as his face contorted into a look of disgust. 

"I warned you," Darryl teased, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. "It'll be fine," Darryl mocked, pitching his voice up. 

"Bad, Please, Bad--" Zak coughed out, hand grasping his chest. "Help," he inhaled in, falling back in his chair. 

"Skeppy?" Darryl asked, sitting up, placing the bottle on the desk. "Are you okay? Skeppy?" Despite knowing Zak was only teasing for the sake of the stream, he couldn't help but feel actual adoration building against his chest as he felt Zak grab at his shirt; he dismissed it as soon as it arose.

On cue, Zak sat up, laughing. "Oh my god, I got you so good. You should've seen your face," Zak yelled. Darryl fell back in the chair, groaning, placing his hands over his face. 

"Don't do that Skeppy!" He yelled out. "That's not funny," he said, voice muffled by his hands. Despite his annoyed persona, internally, he felt the swirling feelings of comfort as he fell back into his role. 

It was easy as ever to play along; he felt selfish feelings of joy in the ability to read him.

"Pour another," Zak interrupted his thoughts, elbowing him softly. Darryl groaned, looking up at Zak playfully. 

The night progressed as expected; Zak ran his tour across every bottle, a shot at the least, and sorted them from the best to the worst. The stream was running long, and Zak's persona only became amplified by the alcohol in his system.

Darryl internally debated on when he should throw in the towel and end the stream. 

"Perhaps it's bedtime Skeppy," Darryl gently pressed. "You're going to feel really sick if you keep drinking."

"Oh come on," Zak slurred. "I'm not even drunk yet," Zak offered, but the lack of control over his facial expression and the therefore unclear words directly argued with him.

"Bedtime," Darryl said again, letting his persona slip for a moment. "You're probably tired. You actually do need to sleep," he insisted. 

"Oh Bad, only if you sleep _with_ me," Zak teased, leaning over his chair until he was partially over Darryl. Darryl suddenly became painfully aware of how close Zak had become, the words inspiring deliciously descriptive images to flash behind his eyes. 

His face burned red at the thought; this joke was a little too far for his liking.

Darryl had to swallow down the words as he cleared his head. _Just a persona. It's just a stream._

"Eugh, Skeppy," Darryl barked out, "That's it. It's time to end the stream," Darryl decided, reaching over and grabbing the mouse into his hands. "Bye guys! Thanks for coming to Skep's strea--"

"No," Zak slurred, dragging his words on. "I'm having fun, don't end the stream, Darryl."

"You can't even hold yourself up. You're going to bed," Darryl barked out, a twisted mixture of concern and annoyance running rampant in his words.

In one swift click, the stream was over; In one swift movement, Zak was in Darryl's arms, muttering something about being frustrated as he was carried to his bed. Darryl did his best to not let his mind wander; nevertheless, Darryl's skin tingled where his body was pressed against Zak's as he carried him. 

Sick, burning feelings of embarrassment, adoration, and arousal gripped mockingly at Darryl's heart. 

Lowering him into the bed, Darryl covered him with a blanket, watching as he instantly fell into slumber. 

Shaking his head, Darryl headed back to Zak's desk, collecting the bottles of alcohol into his hands before carefully walking to his kitchen, placing the bottles on the counter with a soft clank. Verifying that the bottles were securely closed, he began to sort them as to store them away. 

His phone buzzed incessantly in his pocket; producing it and clicking it on, his face was flooded with the screen's obnoxiously bright light. As his eyes adjusted, the screen read a lingering name that shot tingles of anxiety through his body.

"Hello?" Darryl answered carefully, squeezing the phone between his fingers. "Everything okay?" 

"Of course, Darryl," the woman on the other line laughed. "I can't call my little brother just to chat?" 

Darryl smiled, letting his head fall parallel to the floor as he spoke. "Of course you can," he smiled into his words. "But it's like, the middle of the night and we haven't spoken in weeks. Can you see my worry there?"

"That's a fair point, I'll give you that," she laughed into the line. There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. "I caught your friend's stream; the one you were on. I was a little worried since you hadn't been responding to my texts, so when I saw on Twitter that you were live, I had to check it out."

"Oh really?" Darryl asked, a small smile dancing on his lips as he spoke. "He actually flew all the way from California to visit," Darryl explained excitedly. "That's the same guy who's always in my videos. That's Skeppy."

"So that's what he looks like then," his sister added, an apparent smile in her voice. There was another beat of silence before she spoke up again. "Okay, you were right, I did call for a reason."

"Go on," Darryl hummed carefully, leaning against the counter, drawing in an inhale. 

There was a few odd moments of silence; the kitchen was cold and still.

"Is that your boyfriend?" She asked, causing Darryl to freeze. The breath was caught for a moment; after a second, he coughed it out.

"What?" He asked, flustered. "Of course not-- What are you even talking about? Where'd you even get that idea from?"

"Okay okay, maybe I'm wrong here. It just looked like you two--" She started before stopping. She sighed. "I just-- I don't know. Do you like him?" 

"What? I'm not--" Darryl asked again, fingers flexing against the phone. With his spare hand, he scratched his arm awkwardly, frustration bubbling up at his chest. "Why does any of this even matter to you? We haven't spoken in weeks."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I just thought--" she started, voice careful. 

The silence overwhelmed both of them again; for a second, Darryl thought his phone had died.

"Don't apologize," he spoke, sighing, shutting his eyes. "Look, it's not really your business."

"I know it isn't. And you don't have to answer me," Darryl's sister hummed. "You seem happier around him. I know that there's a whole persona and whatnot, but I haven't seen you look at someone like that before -- I could be entirely wrong about that, but I'd hopefully like to say I know my brother."

"Of course I like him," Darryl breathed out, eyes fluttering shut. "I don't know how someone wouldn't-- No idea how you've always been able to know things like that, but there you go."

"Just don't tell mom," Darryl warned into the line after a moment of adoring silence. "You know how she feels about people like me." 

"People like you?" His sister asked after a second. "Oh, you mean--" 

"Yeah. Don't tell her," Darryl firmly spoke into the line. His sister made a noise of acknowledgment. 

Darryl sighed, eyes dancing over the dimly lit features of his kitchen. He pushed himself harder into the counter.

"I haven't spoken to her since you moved out, you know," his sister spoke into the line, her voice careful. "Not after what she did to us. But if it makes you feel better for me to say it, I won't tell her." 

Darryl's body tingled, and his voice was caught in his throat.

"Thank you," Darryl said, voice soft and low. he palmed the phone in his hand for a moment, eyes dancing upon the dark nothingness of his kitchen.

"Are you going to tell him?" His sister asked after a moment, excitement climbing back into her voice. "That you like him, I mean. The Skeppy guy," she completed. Darryl swallowed, sinking against the kitchen counter. 

"I have no idea," he admitted, groaning. "Don't push me on this, please." 

"Alright, alright," she chuckled into the line as Darryl covered his face with his spare hand. "Look at my little brother, all in love. I'm so proud."

"Shut up," he playfully barked out, groaning again.

"When will I meet this brother-in-law of mine, then?" She teased again. Darryl choked out a laugh at her words.

"Oh goodness, shut up," Darryl smiled, face heating up. 

He was silently thankful; perhaps he should've told her so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


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